{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_15693/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_15693","id":"gutenberg_15693","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15693","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Biographies","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Clergy -- United States -- Biography","Presbyterian Church -- Clergy -- Biography","Talmage, T. De Witt (Thomas De Witt), 1832-1902"],"text":"Produced by David Newman, Melissa Er-Raqabi, Jeannie Howse and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nT. DE WITT TALMAGE\nAS I KNEW HIM\n\nBY THE LATE\nT. DE WITT TALMAGE, D.D.\n\nWITH CONCLUDING CHAPTERS BY\nMRS. T. DE WITT TALMAGE\n\nWITH ILLUSTRATIONS\n\nNEW YORK:\nE.P. DUTTON AND COMPANY\n1912\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nFIRST MILESTONE\nSECOND MILESTONE\nTHIRD MILESTONE\nFOURTH MILESTONE\nFIFTH MILESTONE\nSIXTH MILESTONE\nSEVENTH MILESTONE\nEIGHTH MILESTONE\nNINTH MILESTONE\nTENTH MILESTONE\nELEVENTH MILESTONE\nTWELFTH MILESTONE\nTHIRTEENTH MILESTONE\nFOURTEENTH MILESTONE\nFIFTEENTH MILESTONE\nSIXTEENTH MILESTONE\nSEVENTEENTH MILESTONE\nBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF HIS LAST MILESTONES--\n   FIRST MILESTONE\n   SECOND MILESTONE\n   THIRD MILESTONE\n   LAST MILESTONE\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\nTHE REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE, D.D.\nDAVID AND CATHERINE TALMAGE--PARENTS OF DR. T. DE WITT TALMAGE\nDR. TALMAGE IN HIS FIRST CHURCH, BELLEVILLE, NEW JERSEY\nDR. TALMAGE AS CHAPLAIN OF THE THIRTEENTH REGIMENT OF NEW YORK\nTHE THIRD BROOKLYN TABERNACLE\nTHE FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, WASHINGTON, D.C.\nDR. AND MRS. T. DE WITT TALMAGE\nFACSIMILE OF PRESIDENT ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S LETTER\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nI write this story of my life, first of all for my children. How much\nwould I now give for a full account of my father's life written by his\nown hand! That which merely goes from lip to ear is apt to be soon\nforgotten. The generations move on so rapidly that events become\nconfused. I said to my son, \"Do you remember that time in Philadelphia,\nduring the war, when I received a telegram saying several hundred\nwounded soldiers would arrive next day, and we suddenly extemporised a\nhospital and all turned in to the help of the suffering soldiers?\" My\nson's reply was, \"My memory of that occurrence is not very distinct, as\nit took place six years before I was born.\" The fact is that we think\nour children know many things concerning which they know nothing at all.\n\nBut, outside my own family, I am sure that there are many who would like\nto read about what I have been doing, thinking, enjoying, and hoping all\nthese years; for through the publication of my entire Sermons, as has\nagain and again been demonstrated, I have been brought into contact with\nthe minds of more people, and for a longer time, than most men. This I\nmean not in boast, but as a reason for thinking that this autobiography\nmay have some attention outside of my own circle, and I mention it also\nin gratitude to God, Who has for so long a time given me this unlimited\nand almost miraculous opportunity.\n\nEach life is different from every other life. God never repeats Himself,\nand He never intended two men to be alike, or two women to be alike, or\ntwo children to be alike. This infinite variety of character and\nexperience makes the story of any life interesting, if that story be\nclearly and accurately told.\n\nI am now in the full play of my faculties, and without any apprehension\nof early departure, not having had any portents, nor seen the moon over\nmy left shoulder, nor had a salt-cellar upset, nor seen a bat fly into\nthe window, nor heard a cricket chirp from the hearth, nor been one of\nthirteen persons at a table. But my common sense, and the family record,\nand the almanac tell me it must be \"towards evening.\"\n\n\n\n\nT. DE WITT TALMAGE\n\nAS I KNEW HIM\n\n\n\n\nFIRST MILESTONE\n\n1832-1845\n\n\nOur family Bible, in the record just between the Old and the New\nTestaments, has this entry: \"Thomas DeWitt, Born January 7, 1832.\" I was\nthe youngest of a family of twelve children, all of whom lived to grow\nup except the first, and she was an invalid child.\n\nI was the child of old age. My nativity, I am told, was not heartily\nwelcomed, for the family was already within one of a dozen, and the\nmeans of support were not superabundant. I arrived at Middlebrook, New\nJersey, while my father kept the toll-gate, at which business the older\nchildren helped him, but I was too small to be of service. I have no\nmemory of residence there, except the day of departure, and that only\nemphasised by the fact that we left an old cat which had purred her way\ninto my affections, and separation from her was my first sorrow, so far\nas I can remember.\n\nIn that home at Middlebrook, and in the few years after, I went through\nthe entire curriculum of infantile ailments. The first of these was\nscarlet fever, which so nearly consummated its fell work on me that I\nwas given up by the doctors as doomed to die, and, according to custom\nin those times in such a case, my grave clothes were completed, the\nneighbours gathering for that purpose. During those early years I took\nsuch a large share of epidemics that I have never been sick since with\nanything worthy of being called illness. I never knew or heard of anyone\nwho has had such remarkable and unvarying health as I have had, and I\nmention it with gratitude to God, in whose \"hand our breath is, and all\nour ways.\"\n\nThe \"grippe,\" as it is called, touched me at Vienna when on my way from\nthe Holy Land, but I felt it only half a day, and never again since.\n\nI often wonder what has become of our old cradle in which all of us\nchildren were rocked! We were a large family, and that old cradle was\ngoing a good many years. I remember just how it looked. It was\nold-fashioned and had no tapestry. Its two sides and canopy were of\nplain wood, but there was a great deal of sound sleeping in that cradle,\nand many aches and pains were soothed in it. Most vividly I remember\nthat the rockers, which came out from under the cradle, were on the top\nand side very smooth, so smooth that they actually glistened. But it\nwent right on and rocked for Phoebe the first, and for DeWitt the last.\n\nThere were no lords or baronets or princes in our ancestral line. None\nwore stars, cockade, or crest. There was once a family coat-of-arms, but\nwe were none of us wise enough to tell its meaning. Do our best, we\ncannot find anything about our forerunners except that they behaved\nwell, came over from Wales or Holland a good while ago, and died when\ntheir time came. Some of them may have had fine equipages and\npostilions, but the most of them were sure only of footmen. My father\nstarted in life belonging to the aristocracy of hard knuckles and\nhomespun, but had this high honour that no one could despise: he was the\nson of a father who loved God and kept His commandments. Two eyes, two\nhands, and two feet were the capital my father started with.\n\nBenignity, kindness, keen humour, broad common sense and industry\ncharacterised my mother. The Reverend Dr. Chambers was for many years\nher pastor. He had fifty years of pastorate service, in Somerville,\nN.J., and the Collegiate Church, New York. He said, in an address at the\ndedication of the Brooklyn Tabernacle, that my mother was the most\nconsecrated Christian person he had ever known. My mother worked very\nhard, and when we would come in and sit down at the table at noon, I\nremember how she used to look. There were beads of perspiration along\nthe line of her grey hair, and sometimes she would sit down at the\ntable, and put her head against her wrinkled hand and say, \"Well, the\nfact is, I'm too tired to eat.\"\n\nMy father was a religious, hard-working, honest man. Every day began and\nclosed with family worship, led by my father, or, in case of his\nabsence, by Mother. That which was evidently uppermost in the minds of\nmy parents, and that which was the most pervading principle in their\nlives, was the Christian religion. The family Bible held a perfect\nfascination for me, not a page that was not discoloured either with time\nor tears. My parents read out of it as long as I can remember. When my\nbrother Van Nest died in a foreign land, and the news came to our\ncountry home, that night they read the eternal consolations out of the\nold book. When my brother David died that book comforted the old people\nin their trouble. My father in mid-life, fifteen years an invalid, out\nof that book read of the ravens that fed Elijah all through the hard\nstruggle for bread. When my mother died that book illumined the dark\nvalley. In the years that followed of loneliness, it comforted my father\nwith the thought of reunion, which took place afterward in Heaven.\n\nTo the wonderful conversion of my grandfather and grandmother, in those\ngrand old days of our declaration of independence, I trace the whole\npurpose, trend, and energies of my life. I have told the story of the\nconversion of my grandfather and grandmother before. I repeat it here,\nfor my children.\n\nMy grandfather and grandmother went from Somerville to Baskenridge to\nattend revival meetings under the ministry of Dr. Finney. They were so\nimpressed with the meetings that when they came back to Somerville they\nwere seized upon by a great desire for the salvation of their children.\nThat evening the children were going off for a gay party, and my\ngrandmother said to the children, \"When you get all ready for the\nentertainment, come into my room; I have something very important to\ntell you.\" After they were all ready they came into my grandmother's\nroom, and she said to them, \"Go and have a good time, but while you are\ngone I want you to know I am praying for you and will do nothing but\npray for you until you get back.\" They did not enjoy the entertainment\nmuch because they thought all the time of the fact that Mother was\npraying for them. The evening passed. The next day my grandparents heard\nsobbing and crying in the daughter's room, and they went in and found\nher praying for the salvation of God, and her daughter Phoebe said, \"I\nwish you would go to the barn and to the waggon-house for Jehiel and\nDavid (the brothers) are under powerful conviction of sin.\" My\ngrandparent went to the barn, and Jehiel, who afterward became a useful\nminister of the Gospel, was imploring the mercy of Christ; and then,\nhaving first knelt with him and commended his soul to Christ, they went\nto the waggon-house, and there was David crying for the salvation of his\nsoul--David, who afterward became my father. David could not keep the\nstory to himself, and he crossed the fields to a farmhouse and told one\nto whom he had been affianced the story of his own salvation, and she\nyielded her heart to God. The story of the converted household went all\nthrough the neighbourhood. In a few weeks two hundred souls stood up in\nthe plain meeting house at Somerville to profess faith in Christ, among\nthem David and Catherine, afterward my parents.\n\n[Illustration: DAVID TALMAGE. CATHERINE TALMAGE. (_The Parents of Dr. T.\nDeWitt Talmage_)]\n\nMy mother, impressed with that, in after life, when she had a large\nfamily of children gathered around her, made a covenant with three\nneighbours, three mothers. They would meet once a week to pray for the\nsalvation of their children until all their children were\nconverted--this incident was not known until after my mother's death,\nthe covenant then being revealed by one of the survivors. We used to\nsay: \"Mother, where are you going?\" and she would say, \"I am just going\nout a little while; going over to the neighbours.\" They kept on in that\ncovenant until all their families were brought into the kingdom of God,\nmyself the last, and I trace that line of results back to that evening\nwhen my grandmother commended our family to Christ, the tide of\ninfluence going on until this hour, and it will never cease.\n\nMy mother died in her seventy-sixth year. Through a long life of\nvicissitude she lived harmlessly and usefully, and came to her end in\npeace. We had often heard her, when leading family prayers in the\nabsence of my father, say, \"O Lord, I ask not for my children wealth or\nhonour, but I do ask that they all may be the subjects of Thy converting\ngrace.\" Her eleven children brought into the kingdom of God, she had but\none more wish, and that was that she might see her long-absent\nmissionary son, and when the ship from China anchored in New York\nharbour, and the long-absent one passed over the threshold of his\npaternal home, she said, \"Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in\npeace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation.\" The prayer was soon\nanswered.\n\nMy father, as long as I can remember, was an elder in churches. He\nconducted prayer-meetings in the country, when he was sometimes the only\nman to take part, giving out a hymn and leading the singing; then\nreading the Scriptures and offering prayer; then giving out another hymn\nand leading in that; and then praying again; and so continuing the\nmeeting for the usual length of time, and with no lack of interest.\n\nWhen the church choir would break down, everybody looked around to see\nif he were not ready with \"Woodstock,\" \"Mount Pisgah\" or \"Uxbridge.\" And\nwhen all his familiar tunes failed to express the joy of his soul, he\nwould take up his own pen, draw five long lines across the sheet, put in\nthe notes, and then to the tune he called \"Bound Brook,\" begin to sing:\n\n    As when the weary traveller gains\n      The height of some o'erlooking hill,\n    His heart revives if 'cross the plains\n      He eyes his home, though distant still;\n\n    Thus, when the Christian pilgrim views,\n      By faith, his mansion in the skies,\n    The sight his fainting strength renews,\n      And wings his speed to reach the prize.\n\n    'Tis there, he says, I am to dwell\n      With Jesus in the realms of day;\n    There I shall bid my cares farewell\n      And He will wipe my tears away.\n\nHe knew about all the cheerful tunes that were ever printed in old \"New\nBrunswick Collection,\" and the \"Shunway,\" and the sweetest melodies that\nThomas Hastings ever composed. He took the pitch of sacred song on\nSabbath morning, and kept it through all the week.\n\nMy father was the only person whom I ever knew without any element of\nfear. I do not believe he understood the sensation.\n\nSeated in a waggon one day during a runaway that every moment threatened\nour demolition, he was perfectly calm. He turned around to me, a boy of\nseven years, and said, \"DeWitt, what are you crying about? I guess we\ncan ride as fast as they can run.\"\n\nThere was one scene I remember, that showed his poise and courage as\nnothing else could. He was Sheriff of Somerset County, N.J., and we\nlived in the court house, attached to which was the County Jail. During\nmy father's absence one day a prisoner got playing the maniac, dashing\nthings to pieces, vociferating horribly, and flourishing a knife with\nwhich he had threatened to carve any one who came near the wicket of his\nprison, Constables were called in to quell this real or dramatised\nmaniac, but they fell back in terror from the door of the prison. Their\nshow of firearms made no impression upon the demented wretch. After\nawhile my father returned and was told of the trouble, and indeed he\nheard it before he reached home. The whole family implored him not to\ngo near the man who was cursing, and armed with a knife. But father\ncould not be deterred. He did not stand outside the door and at a safe\ndistance, but took the key and opened the door, and without any weapon\nof defence came upon the man, thundering at him, \"Sit down and give me\nthat knife!\" The tragedy was ended. I never remember to have heard him\nmake a gloomy remark. This was not because he had no perception of the\npollutions of society. I once said to my father, \"Are people so much\nworse now than they used to-be?\" He made no answer for a minute, for the\nold people do not like to confess much to the boys. But after awhile his\neye twinkled and he said: \"Well, DeWitt, the fact is that people were\nnever any better than they ought to be.\"\n\nOurs was an industrious home. I was brought up to regard laziness as an\nabominable disease. Though we were some years of age before we heard the\ntrill of a piano, we knew well all about the song of \"The\nSpinning-Wheel.\"\n\nThrough how many thrilling scenes my father had passed! He stood, at\nMorristown, in the choir that chanted when George Washington was buried;\ntalked with young men whose fathers he had held on his knee; watched the\nprogress of John Adams's administration; denounced, at the time, Aaron\nBurr's infamy; heard the guns that celebrated the New Orleans victory;\nvoted against Jackson, but lived long enough to wish we had another just\nlike him; remembered when the first steamer struck the North river with\nits wheel-buckets; was startled by the birth of telegraphy; saw the\nUnited States grow from a speck on the world's map till all nations dip\ntheir flag at our passing merchantmen. He was born while the\nRevolutionary cannon were coming home from Yorktown, and lived to hear\nthe tramp of troops returning from the war of the great Rebellion. He\nlived to speak the names of eighty children, grand-children and\ngreat-grand-children. He died just three years from the day when my\nmother sped on.\n\nWhen my father lay dying the old country minister said to him, \"Mr.\nTalmage, how do you feel now as you are about to pass the Jordan of\ndeath?\" He replied--and it was the last thing he ever said--\"I feel\nwell; I feel very well; all is well\"--lifting his hand in a benediction,\na speechless benediction, which I pray God may go down through all the\ngenerations--\"It is well!\"\n\nFour of his sons became ministers of the Gospel: Reverend James R.\nTalmage, D.D., who was preaching before I was born, and who died in\n1879; Reverend John Van Nest Talmage, D.D., who spent his life as a\nmissionary in China, and died in the summer of 1892; Reverend Goyn\nTalmage, D.D., who after doing a great work for God, died in 1891. But\nall my brothers and sisters were decidedly Christian, lived usefully and\ndied peacefully.\n\nI rejoice to remember that though my father lived in a plain house the\nmost of his days, he died in a mansion provided by the filial piety of\nhis son who had achieved a fortune.\n\nThe house at Gateville, near Bound Brook, in which I was born, has gone\ndown. Not one stone has been left upon another. I one day picked up a\nfragment of the chimney, or wall, and carried it home. But the home that\nI associate with my childhood was about three miles from Somerville,\nN.J. The house, the waggon-shed, the barn, are now just as I remember\nthem from childhood days. It was called \"Uncle John's Place\" from the\nfact that my mother's uncle, John Van Nest, owned it, and from him my\nfather rented it \"on shares.\" Here I rode the horse to brook. Here I\nhunted for and captured Easter eggs. Here the natural world made its\ndeepest impression on me. Here I learned some of the fatigues and\nhardships of the farmer's life--not as I felt them, but as my father and\nmother endured them. Here my brother Daniel brought home his bride. From\nhere I went to the country school. Here in the evening the family were\ngathered, mother knitting or sewing, father vehemently talking politics\nor religion with some neighbour not right on the subject of the tariff,\nor baptism, and the rest of us reading or listening. All the group are\ngone except my sister Catherine and myself.\n\nMy childhood, as I look back upon it, is to me a mystery. While I always\npossessed a keen sense of the ludicrous, and a hearty appreciation of\nfun of all sorts, there was a sedate side of my nature that demonstrated\nitself to the older members of the family, and of which they often\nspoke. For half days, or whole days, at a time I remember sitting on a\nsmall footstool beside an ordinary chair on which lay open \"Scott's\nCommentaries on the Bible.\" I not only read the Scriptures out of this\nbook, but long discourses of Thomas Scott, and passages adjoining. I\ncould not have understood much of these profound and elaborate\ncommentaries. They were not written or printed for children, but they\nhad for my childish mind a fascination that kept me from play, and from\nthe ordinary occupations of persons of my years.\n\nSo, also, it was with the religious literature of the old-fashioned\nkind, with which some of the tables of my father's house were piled.\nIndeed, when afterwards I was living at my brothers' house, he a\nclergyman, I read through and through and through the four or five\nvolumes of Dwight's \"Theology,\" which must have been a wading-in far\nbeyond my depth. I think if I had not possessed an unusual resiliency of\ntemperament, the reading and thinking so much of things pertaining to\nthe soul and a future state would have made me morbid and unnatural.\nThis tendency to read and think in sacred directions was not a case of\nearly piety. I do not know what it was. I suppose in all natures there\nare things inexplicable. How strange is the phenomenon of childhood days\nto an old man!\n\nHow well I remember Sanderson's stage coach, running from New Brunswick\nto Easton, as he drove through Somerville, New Jersey, turning up to the\npost-office and dropping the mail-bags with ten letters and two or three\nnewspapers! On the box Sanderson himself, six feet two inches, and well\nproportioned, long lash-whip in one hand, the reins of six horses in the\nother, the \"leaders\" lathered along the lines of the traces, foam\ndripping from the bits! It was the event of the day when the stage came.\nIt was our highest ambition to become a stage-driver. Some of the boys\nclimbed on the great leathern boot of the stage, and those of us who\ncould not get on shouted \"Cut behind!\" I saw the old stage-driver not\nlong ago, and I expressed to him my surprise that one around whose head\nI had seen a halo of glory in my boyhood time was only a man like the\nrest of us. Between Sanderson's stage-coach and a Chicago express train,\nwhat a difference!\n\nAnd I shall always marvel at our family doctor. Dear old Dr. Skillman!\nMy father's doctor, my mother's doctor, in the village home! He carried\nall the confidences of all the families for ten miles around. We all\nfelt better as soon as we saw him enter the house. His face pronounced a\nbeatitude before he said a word. He welcomed all of us children into\nlife, and he closed the old people's eyes.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SECOND MILESTONE\n\n1845-1869\n\n\nWhen moving out of a house I have always been in the habit, after\neverything was gone, of going into each room and bidding it a mute\nfarewell. There are the rooms named after the different members of the\nfamily. I suppose it is so in all households. It was so in mine; we\nnamed the rooms after the persons who occupied them. I moved from the\nhouse of my boyhood with a sort of mute affection for its remembrances\nthat are most vivid in its hours of crisis and meditation. Through all\nthe years that have intervened there is no holier sanctuary to me than\nthe memory of my mother's vacant chair. I remember it well. It made a\ncreaking noise as it moved. It was just high enough to allow us children\nto put our heads into her lap. That was the bank where we deposited all\nour hurts and worries.\n\nSome time ago, in an express train, I shot past that old homestead. I\nlooked out of the window and tried to peer through the darkness. While I\nwas doing so, one of my old schoolmates, whom I had not seen for many\nyears, tapped me on the shoulder, and said: \"DeWitt, I see you are\nlooking out at the scenes of your boyhood.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" I replied, \"I was looking out at the old place where my\nmother lived and died.\"\n\nI pass over the boyhood days and the country school. The first real\nbreath of life is in young manhood, when, with the strength of the\nunknown, he dares to choose a career. I first studied for the law, at\nthe New York University.\n\nNew York in 1850 was a small place compared to the New York of to-day,\nbut it had all the effervescence and glitter of the entire country even\nthen. I shall never forget the excitement when on September 1st, 1850,\nJenny Lind landed from the steamer \"Atlantic.\" Not merely because of her\nreputation as a singer, but because of her fame for generosity and\nkindness were the people aroused to welcome her. The first $10,000 she\nearned in America she devoted to charity, and in all the cities of\nAmerica she poured forth her benefactions. Castle Garden was then the\ngreat concert hall of New York, and I shall never forget the night of\nher first appearance. I was a college boy, and Jenny Lind was the first\ngreat singer I ever heard. There were certain cadences in her voice that\noverwhelmed the audience with emotion. I remember a clergyman sitting\nnear me who was so overcome that he was obliged to leave the auditorium.\nThe school of suffering and sorrow had done as much for her voice as the\nAcademy of Stockholm.\n\nThe woman who had her in charge when a child used to lock her in a room\nwhen she went off to the daily work. There by the hour Jenny would sit\nat the window, her only amusement singing, while she stroked her cat on\nher lap. But sitting there by the window her voice fell on a listener in\nthe street. The listener called a music master to stand by the same\nwindow, and he was fascinated and amazed, and took the child to the\ndirector of the Royal Opera, asking for her the advantages of musical\neducation, and the director roughly said: \"What shall we do with that\nugly thing? See what feet she has. And, then, her face; she will never\nbe presentable. No, we can't take her. Away with her!\" But God had\ndecreed for this child of nature a grand career, and all those sorrows\nwere woven into her faculty of song. She never could have been what she\nbecame, royally arrayed on the platforms of Berlin and Vienna and Paris\nand London and New York, had she not first been the poor girl in the\ngarret at Stockholm. She had been perfected through suffering. That she\nwas genuinely Christian I prove not more from her charities than from\nthese words which she wrote in an album during her triumphal American\ntour:\n\n    In vain I seek for rest\n      In all created good;\n    It leaves me still unblest\n      And makes me cry for God.\n    And safe at rest I cannot be\n      Until my heart finds rest in Thee.\n\nThere never was anyone who could equal Jenny Lind in the warble. Some\nsaid it was like a lark, but she surpassed the lark. Oh, what a warble!\nI hear it yet. All who heard it thirty-five years ago are hearing it\nyet.\n\nI should probably have been a lawyer, except for the prayers of my\nmother and father that I should preach the Gospel. Later, I entered the\nNew Brunswick Theological Seminary. Why I ever thought of any other work\nin the world than that which I have done, is another mystery of my\nyouth. Everything in my heredity and in my heart indicated my career as\na preacher. And yet, in the days of my infancy I was carried by\nChristian parents to the house of God, and consecrated in baptism to the\nFather, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost; but that did not save me. In\nafter time I was taught to kneel at the Christian family altar with\nfather and mother and brothers and sisters. In after time I read\nDoddridge's \"Rise and Progress,\" and Baxter's \"Call to the Unconverted,\"\nand all the religious books around my father's household; but that did\nnot save me. But one day the voice of Christ came into my heart saying,\n\"Repent, repent; believe, believe,\" and I accepted the offer of mercy.\n\nIt happened this way: Truman Osborne, one of the evangelists who went\nthrough this country some years ago, had a wonderful art in the right\ndirection. He came to my father's house one day, and while we were all\nseated in the room, he said: \"Mr. Talmage, are all your children\nChristians?\" Father said: \"Yes, all but De Witt.\" Then Truman Osborne\nlooked down into the fireplace, and began to tell a story of a storm\nthat came on the mountains, and all the sheep were in the fold; but\nthere was one lamb outside that perished in the storm. Had he looked me\nin the eye, I should have been angered when he told me that story; but\nhe looked into the fireplace, and it was so pathetically and beautifully\ndone that I never found any peace until I was inside the fold, where the\nother sheep are.\n\nWhen I was a lad a book came out entitled \"Dow Junior's Patent Sermons\";\nit made a great stir, a very wide laugh all over the country, that book\ndid. It was a caricature of the Christian ministry and of the Word of\nGod and of the Day of Judgment. Oh, we had a great laugh! The commentary\non the whole thing is that the author of that book died in poverty,\nshame, debauchery, kicked out of society.\n\nI have no doubt that derision kept many people out of the ark. The\nworld laughed to see a man go in, and said, \"Here is a man starting for\nthe ark. Why, there will be no deluge. If there is one, that miserable\nship will not weather it. Aha! going into the ark! Well, that is too\ngood to keep. Here, fellows, have you heard the news? This man is going\ninto the ark.\" Under this artillery of scorn the man's good resolution\nperished.\n\nI was the youngest of a large family of children. My parents were\nneither rich nor poor; four of the sons wanted collegiate education, and\nfour obtained it, but not without great home-struggle. The day I left\nour country home to look after myself we rode across the country, and my\nfather was driving. He began to tell how good the Lord had been to him,\nin sickness and in health, and when times of hardship came how\nProvidence had always provided the means of livelihood for the large\nhousehold; and he wound up by saying, \"De Witt, I have always found it\nsafe to trust the Lord.\" I have felt the mighty impetus of that lesson\nin the farm waggon. It has been fulfilled in my own life and in the\nlives of many consecrated men and women I have known.\n\nIn the minister's house where I prepared for college there worked a man\nby the name of Peter Croy. He could neither read nor write, but he was a\nman of God. Often theologians would stop in the house--grave\ntheologians--and at family prayer Peter Croy would be called upon to\nlead; and all those wise men sat around, wonder-struck at his religious\nefficiency.\n\nIn the church at Somerville, New Jersey, where I was afterwards pastor,\nJohn Vredenburgh preached for a great many years. He felt that his\nministry was a failure, and others felt so, although he was a faithful\nminister preaching the Gospel all the time. He died, and died amid some\ndiscouragements, and went home to God; for no one ever doubted that John\nVredenburgh was a good Christian minister. A little while after his\ndeath there came a great awakening in Somerville, and one Sabbath two\nhundred souls stood up at the Christian altar espousing the cause of\nChrist, among them my own father and mother. And what was peculiar in\nregard to nearly all of those two hundred souls was that they dated\ntheir religious impressions from the ministry of John Vredenburgh.\n\nI had no more confidence in my own powers when I was studying for the\nministry than John Vredenburgh. I was often very discouraged. \"DeWitt,\"\nsaid a man to me as we were walking the fields at the time I was in the\ntheological school, \"DeWitt, if you don't change your style of thought\nand expression, you will never get a call to any church in Christendom\nas long as you live.\" \"Well,\" I replied, \"if I cannot preach the Gospel\nin America, then I will go to heathen lands and preach it.\" I thought I\nmight be useful on heathen ground, if I could ever learn the language of\nthe Chinese, about which I had many forebodings. The foreign tongue\nbecame to me more and more an obstacle and a horror, until I resolved if\nI could get an invitation to preach in the English language, I would\naccept it. So one day, finding Rev. Dr. Van Vranken, one of our\ntheological professors (blessed be his memory), sauntering in the campus\nof Rutgers College, I asked him, with much trepidation, if he would by\nletter introduce me to some officer of the Reformed Church at\nBelleville, N.J., the pulpit of which was then vacant. With an outburst\nof heartiness he replied: \"Come right into my house, and I will give you\nthe letter now.\" It was a most generous introduction of me to Dr.\nSamuel Ward, a venerable elder of the Belleville church. I sent the\nletter to the elder, and within a week received an invitation to occupy\nthe vacant pulpit.\n\nI had been skirmishing here and there as a preacher, now in the basement\nof churches at week-night religious meetings, and now in school-houses\non Sunday afternoons, and here and there in pulpits with brave pastors\nwho dared risk having an inexperienced theological student preach to\ntheir people.\n\nBut the first sermon with any considerable responsibility resting upon\nit was the sermon preached as a candidate for a pastoral call in the\nReformed Church at Belleville, N.J. I was about to graduate from the New\nBrunswick Theological Seminary, and wanted a Gospel field in which to\nwork. I had already written to my brother John, a missionary at Amoy,\nChina, telling him that I expected to come out there.\n\nI was met by Dr. Ward at Newark, New Jersey, and taken to his house.\nSabbath morning came. With one of my two sermons, which made up my\nentire stock of pulpit resources, I tremblingly entered the pulpit of\nthat brown stone village church, which stands in my memory as one of the\nmost sacred places of all the earth, where I formed associations which I\nexpect to resume in Heaven.\n\nThe sermon was fully written, and was on the weird battle between the\nGideonites and Midianites, my text being in Judges vii. 20, 21: \"The\nthree companies blew the trumpets, and brake the pitchers, and held the\nlamps in their left hands, and the trumpets in their right hands to blow\nwithal; and they cried, The sword of the Lord, and of Gideon. And they\nstood every man in his place round about the camp; and all the host ran,\nand cried, and fled.\" A brave text, but a very timid man to handle it.\nI did not feel at all that hour either like blowing Gideon's trumpet, or\nholding up the Gospel lamp; but if I had, like any of the Gideonites,\nheld a pitcher, I think I would have dropped it and broken that lamp. I\nfelt as the moment approached for delivering my sermon more like the\nMidianites, who, according to my text, \"ran, and cried, and fled.\" I had\nplaced the manuscript of my sermon on the pulpit sofa beside where I\nsat. Looking around to put my hand on the manuscript, lo! it was gone.\nBut where had it gone? My excitement knew no bound. Within three minutes\nof the greatest ordeal of my life, and the sermon on which so much\ndepended mysteriously vanished! How much disquietude and catastrophe\nwere crowded into those three minutes it would be impossible to depict.\nThen I noticed for the first time that between the upper and lower parts\nof the sofa there was an opening about the width of three\nfinger-breadths, and I immediately suspected that through that opening\nthe manuscript of my sermon had disappeared. But how could I recover it,\nand in so short a time? I bent over and reached under as far as I could.\nBut the sofa was low, and I could not touch the lost discourse. The\ncongregation were singing the last verse of the hymn, and I was reduced\nto a desperate effort. I got down on my hands and knees, and then down\nflat, and crawled under the sofa and clutched the prize. Fortunately,\nthe pulpit front was wide, and hid the sprawling attitude I was\ncompelled to take. When I arose to preach a moment after, the fugitive\nmanuscript before me on the Bible, it is easy to understand why I felt\nmore like the Midianites than I did like Gideon.\n\nThis and other mishaps with manuscripts helped me after a while to\nstrike for entire emancipation from such bondage, and for about a\nquarter of a century I have preached without notes--only a sketch of the\nsermon pinned in my Bible, and that sketch seldom referred to.\n\nWhen I entered the ministry I looked very pale for years, for four or\nfive years, many times I was asked if I had consumption; and, passing\nthrough the room, I would sometimes hear people sigh and say, \"A-ah! not\nlong for this world!\" I resolved in those times that I never, in any\nconversation, would say anything depressing, and by the help of God I\nhave kept the resolution.\n\nThe day for my final examination for a licence to preach the Gospel for\nordination by the laying on of hands, and for installation as pastor for\nthe Reformed Church of Belleville, N.J., had arrived. The examination as\nto my qualifications was to take place in the morning, and if the way\nproved clear, the ordination and installation were to be solemnised in\nthe afternoon of the same day. The embarrassing thought was that members\nof the congregation were to be present in the morning, as well as the\nafternoon. If I made a mistake or failure under the severe scrutiny of\nthe Ecclesiastical Court, I would ever after be at a great disadvantage\nin preaching to those good people.\n\nIt so happened, however, that the Classis, as the body of clergy were\ncalled, was made up mostly of genial, consecrated persons, and no honest\nyoung man would suffer anything at their hands. Although I was\nexceedingly nervous, and did not do myself justice, and no doubt\nappeared to know less than I really did know, all went well until a\nclergyman, to whom I shall give the fictitious name of \"Dr. Hardman,\"\ntook me in hand. This \"Dr. Hardman\" had a dislike for me. He had once\nwanted me to do something for him and take his advice in matters of a\npastoral settlement, which I had, for good reasons, declined to take. I\nwill not go further into the reasons of this man's antipathy, lest\nsomeone should know whom I mean. One thing was certain to all present,\nand that was his wish to defeat my installation as pastor of that\nchurch, or make it to me a disagreeable experience.\n\nAs soon as he opened upon me a fire of interrogations, what little\nspirit I had in me dropped. In the agitation I could not answer the\nsimplest questions. But he assailed me with puzzlers. He wanted to know,\namong other things, if Christ's atonement availed for other worlds; to\nwhich I replied that I did not know, as I had never studied theology in\nany world but this. He hooked me with the horns of a dilemma. A Turkish\nbath, with the thermometer up to 113, is cool compared to the\nperspiration into which he threw me. At this point Rev. James W. Scott,\nD.D. (that was his real name, and not fictitious) arose. Dr. Scott was a\nScotchman of about 65 years of age. He had been a classmate of the\nremarkable Scottish poet, Robert Pollock. The Doctor was pastor of a\nchurch at Newark, N.J. He was the impersonation of kindness, and\ngenerosity, and helpfulness. The Gospel shone from every feature. I\nnever saw him under any circumstances without a smile on his face. He\nhad been on the Mount of Transfiguration, and the glory had never left\nhis countenance.\n\nI calculate the value of the soul by its capacity for happiness. How\nmuch joy it can get in this world--out of friendships, out of books, out\nof clouds, out of the sea, out of flowers, out of ten thousand things!\nYet all the joy it has here does not test its capacity.\n\nAs Dr. Scott rose that day he said, \"Mr. President, I think this\nexamination has gone on long enough, and I move it be stopped, and that\nthe examination be pronounced satisfactory, and that this young man be\nlicensed to preach the Gospel, and that this afternoon we proceed to his\nordination and installation.\" The motion was put and carried, and I was\nreleased from a Protestant purgatory.\n\nBut the work was not yet done. By rule of that excellent denomination,\nof which I was then a member, the call of a church must be read and\napproved before it can be lawfully accepted. The call from that dear old\nchurch at Belleville was read, and in it I was provided with a month's\nsummer vacation. Dr. Hardman rose, and said that he thought that a month\nwas too long a vacation, and he proposed two weeks. Then Dr. Scott arose\nand said, if any change were made he would have the vacation six weeks;\n\"For,\" said he, \"that young man does not look very strong physically,\nand I believe he should have a good long rest every summer.\" But the\ncall was left as it originally read, promising me a month of\nrecuperation each year.\n\nAt the close of that meeting of Classis, Dr. Scott came up to me, took\nmy right hand in both his hands, and said, \"I congratulate you on the\nopportunity that opens here. Do your best, and God will see you through;\nand if some Saturday night you find yourself short of a sermon, send\ndown to Newark, only three miles, and I will come up and preach for\nyou.\" Can anyone imagine the difference of my appreciation of Dr.\nHardman and Dr. Scott?\n\nOnly a few weeks passed on, and the crisis that Dr. Scott foresaw in my\nhistory occurred, and Saturday night saw me short of a sermon. So I sent\na messenger to Dr. Scott. He said to the messenger, \"I am very tired;\nhave been holding a long series of special services in my church, but\nthat young Talmage must be helped, and I will preach for him to-morrow\nnight.\" He arrived in time, and preached a glowing and rousing sermon on\nthe text, \"Have ye received the Holy Ghost?\" As I sat behind him in the\npulpit and looked upon him I thought, \"What a magnificent soul you are!\nTired out with your own work, and yet come up here to help a young man\nto whom you are under no obligation!\" Well, that was the last sermon he\never preached. The very next Saturday he dropped dead in his house.\nOutside of his own family no one was more broken-hearted at his\nobsequies than myself, to whom he had, until the meeting of Classis,\nbeen a total stranger.\n\nI stood at his funeral in the crowd beside a poor woman with a faded\nshawl and worn-out hat, who was struggling up to get one look at the\ndear old face in the coffin. She was being crowded back. I said, \"Follow\nme, and you shall see him.\" So I pushed the way up for her as well as\nmyself, and when we got up to the silent form she burst out crying, and\nsaid, \"That is the last friend I had in the world.\"\n\nDr. Hardman lived on. He lived to write a letter when I was called to\nSyracuse, N.Y., a letter telling a prominent officer of the Syracuse\nChurch that I would never do at all for their pastor. He lived on until\nI was called to Philadelphia, and wrote a letter to a prominent officer\nin the Philadelphia Church telling them not to call me. Years ago he\nwent to his rest. But the two men will always stand in my memory as\nopposites in character. The one taught me a lesson never to be forgotten\nabout how to treat a young man, and the other a lesson about how not to\ntreat a young man. Dr. Scott and Dr. Hardman, the antipodes!\n\nSo my first settlement as pastor was in the village of Belleville, N.J.\nMy salary was eight hundred dollars and a parsonage. The amount seemed\nenormous to me. I said to myself: \"What! all this for one year?\" I was\nafraid of getting worldly under so much prosperity! I resolved to invite\nall the congregation to my house in groups of twenty-five each. We [A]\nbegan, and as they were the best congregation in all the world, and we\nfelt nothing was too good for them, we piled all the luxuries on the\ntable. I never completed the undertaking. At the end of six months I was\nin financial despair. I found that we not only had not the surplus of\nluxuries, but we had a struggle to get the necessaries.\n\n     [A] _While at Belleville Dr. Talmage married Miss Mary\n         Avery, of Brooklyn, N.Y., by whom he had two children--a\n         son, Thomas De Witt, and a daughter, Jessie. Mrs. Talmage\n         was accidentally drowned in the Schuylkill River while Dr.\n         Talmage was pastor of the Second Reformed Church of\n         Philadelphia._\n\nAlthough the first call I ever had was to Piermont, N.Y., my first real\nwork began in the Reformed Church of Belleville, N.J. I preached at\nPiermont in the morning, and at the Congregational meeting held in the\nafternoon of the same day it was resolved to invite me to become pastor.\nBut for the very high hill on which the parsonage was situated I should\nprobably have accepted. I was delighted with the congregation, and with\nthe grand scenery of that region.\n\nI was ordained to the Gospel Ministry and installed as pastor July 29th,\n1856, my brother Goyn preaching the sermon from the text, First\nCorinthians iii. 12, 13. Reverend Dr. Benjamin C. Taylor, the oldest\nminister present, offered the ordaining prayer, and about twenty hands\nwere laid upon my head. All these facts are obtained from a memorandum\nmade by a hand that long since forgot its cunning and kindness. The\nthree years passed in Belleville were years of hard work. The hardest\nwork in a clergyman's lifetime is during the first three years. No other\noccupation or profession puts such strain upon one's nerves and brain.\nTwo sermons and a lecture per week are an appalling demand to make upon\na young man. Most of the ministers never get over that first three\nyears. They leave upon one's digestion or nervous system a mark that\nnothing but death can remove. It is not only the amount of mental\nproduct required of a young minister, but the draft upon his sympathies\nand the novelty of all that he undertakes; his first sermon; his first\nbaptism; his first communion season; his first pastoral visitation; his\nfirst wedding; his first funeral.\n\nMy first baptism was of Lily Webster, a black-eyed baby, who grew up to\nbe as beautiful a woman as she was a child.\n\nI baptised her. Rev. Dr. John Dowling, of the Baptist Church, New York,\npreached for me and my church his great sermon on, \"I saw a great\nmultitude which no man could number, of all nations, and kindreds, and\npeople, and tongues, clothed in white robes.\" In my verdancy I feared\nthat the Doctor, who did not believe in the baptism of infants, might\ntake it for a personal affront that I had chosen that evening for this\nmy first baptism.\n\n[Illustration: DR. TALMAGE IN HIS FIRST CHURCH, BELLEVILLE, NEW JERSEY.]\n\nSometimes at the baptism of children, while I have held up one hand in\nprayer, I have held up the other in amazement that the parents should\nhave weighted the babe with such a dissonant and repulsive nomenclature.\nI have not so much wondered that some children should cry out at the\nChristening font, as that others with such smiling faces should take a\ntitle that will be the burden of their lifetime. It is no excuse\nbecause they are Scriptural names to call a child Jehoiakim, or Tiglath\nPileser. I baptised one by the name of Bathsheba. Why, under all the\ncircumambient heaven, any parent should want to give a child the name of\nthat loose creature of Scripture times, I cannot imagine. I have often\nfelt at the baptismal altar when names were announced somewhat like\nsaying, as did the Rev. Dr. Richards, of Morristown, New Jersey, when a\nchild was handed to him for baptism, and the names given, \"Hadn't you\nbetter call it something else?\"\n\nOn this occasion I had adopted the theory, which I long since abandoned,\nthat an officiating clergyman at baptism should take the child in his\narms. Now, there are many ministers who do not know how to hold a baby,\nand they frighten the child and increase the anxiety of the mother, and\nmay create a riot all along the line if there be other infants waiting\nfor the ceremony.\n\nAfter reading the somewhat prolonged liturgy of the dear old Reformed\nChurch, I came down from the pulpit and took the child in my arms. She\nwas, however, far more composed than myself, and made no resistance; but\nthe overpowering sensation attached to the first application of the holy\nchrism is a vivid and everlasting memory.\n\nThen, the first pastoral visitation! With me it was at the house of a\nman suffering from dropsy in the leg. He unbandaged the limb and\ninsisted upon my looking at the fearful malady. I never could with any\ncomposure look at pain, and the last profession in all the world suited\nto me would have been surgery. After praying with the man and offering\nhim Scriptural condolence, I started for home.\n\nMy wife met me with anxious countenance, and said, \"How did you get\nhurt, and what is the matter?\" The sight of the lame leg had made my leg\nlame, and unconsciously I was limping on the way home.\n\nBut I had quite another experience with a parishioner. He was a queer\nman, and in bad odour in the community. Some time previously his wife\nhad died, and although a man of plenty of means, in order to economise\non funeral expenses, he had wheeled his wife to the grave on a\nwheelbarrow. This economy of his had not led the village to any higher\nappreciation of the man's character. Having been told of his inexpensive\neccentricities, I was ready for him when one morning he called at the\nparsonage. As he entered he began by saying: \"I came in to say that I\ndon't like you.\" \"Well,\" I said, \"that is a strange coincidence, for I\ncannot bear the sight of you. I hear that you are the meanest man in\ntown, and that your neighbours despise you. I hear that you wheeled your\nwife on a wheelbarrow to the graveyard.\" To say the least, our\nconversation that day was unique and spirited, and it led to his\nbecoming a most ardent friend and admirer. I have had multitudes of\nfriends, but I have found in my own experience that God so arranged it\nthat the greatest opportunities of usefulness that have been opened\nbefore me were opened by enemies. And when, years ago, they conspired\nagainst me, their assault opened all Christendom to me as a field in\nwhich to preach the Gospel. So you may harness your antagonists to your\nbest interests and compel them to draw you on to better work. He allowed\nme to officiate at his second marriage, did this mine enemy. All the\ntown was awake that night. They had somehow heard that this economist at\nobsequies was to be remarried. Well, I was inside his house trying,\nunder adverse circumstances, to make the twain one flesh. There were\noutside demonstrations most extraordinary, and all in consideration of\nwhat the bridegroom had been to that community. Horns, trumpets,\naccordions, fiddles, fire-crackers, tin pans, howls, screeches, huzzas,\nhalloos, missiles striking the front door, and bedlam let loose! Matters\ngrew worse as the night advanced, until the town authorities read the\nRiot Act, and caused the only cannon belonging to the village to be\nhauled out on the street and loaded, threatening death to the mob if\nthey did not disperse. Glad am I to say that it was only a farce, and no\ntragedy. My mode of first meeting this queer man was a case in which it\nis best to fight fire with fire. I remember also the first funeral. It\nnearly killed me. A splendid young man skating on the Passaic River in\nfront of my house had broken through the ice, and his body after many\nhours had been grappled from the water and taken home to his distracted\nparents. To be the chief consoler in such a calamity was something for\nwhich I felt completely incompetent. When in the old but beautiful\nchurch the silent form of the young man whom we all loved rested beneath\nthe pulpit, it was a pull upon my emotions I shall never forget. On the\nway to the grave, in the same carriage with the eminent Reverend Dr.\nFish, who helped in the services, I said, \"This is awful. One more\nfuneral like this will be the end of us.\" He replied, \"You will learn\nafter awhile to be calm under such circumstances. You cannot console\nothers unless you preserve your own equipoise.\"\n\nThose years at Belleville were to me memorable. No vacation, but three\ntimes a day I took a row on the river. Those old families in my\ncongregation I can never forget--the Van Rensselaers, the Stevenses,\nthe Wards. These families took us under their wing. At Mr. Van\nRensselaer's we dined every Monday. It had been the habit of my\npredecessors in the pulpit. Grand old family! Their name not more a\nsynonym for wealth than for piety. Mrs. Van Rensselaer was one of the\nsaints clear up in the heaven of one's appreciation.\n\nWm. Stevens was an embodiment of generosity. He could not pray in\npublic, or make a speech; but he could give money, and when he had\nplenty of it he gave in large sums, and when monetary disaster came, his\ngrief was that he had nothing to give. I saw him go right through all\nthe perturbations of business life. He was faithful to God. I saw him\none day worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. I saw him the next day\nand he was not worth a farthing. Stevens! How plainly he comes before me\nas I think of the night in 1857 after the New York banks had gone down,\nand he had lost everything except his faith in God, and he was at the\nprayer meeting to lead the singing as usual! And, not noticing that from\nthe fatigues of that awful financial panic he had fallen asleep, I arose\nand gave out the hymn, \"My drowsy powers, why sleep ye so?\" His wife\nwakened him, and he started the hymn at too high a pitch, and stopped,\nsaying, \"That is too high\"; then started it at too low a pitch, and\nstopped, saying, \"That is too low.\" It is the only mistake I ever heard\nhim make. But the only wonder is that amid the circumstances of broken\nfortunes he could sing at all.\n\nDr. Samuel Ward! He was the angel of health for the neighbourhood.\nBefore anyone else was up any morning, passing along his house you would\nsee him in his office reading. He presided at the first nativity in my\nhousehold. He it was that met me at the railroad station when I went to\npreach my first sermon as candidate, at Belleville. He medicated for\nmany years nearly all the wounds for body and mind in that region. An\nelder in the Church, he could administer to the soul as well as to the\nperishable nature of his patients.\n\nAnd the Duncans! Broad Scotch as they were in speech! I was so much with\nthem that I got unconsciously some of the Scottish brogue in my own\nutterance. William, cautious and prudent; John, bold and\nventuresome--both so high in my affections! Among the first ones that I\nask for in Heaven will be John and William Duncan.\n\nGasherie De Witt! He embodied a large part of the enterprise and\nenthusiasm of the place. He had his head full of railroads long before\nthe first spike was driven for an iron pathway to the village. We were\nmuch together and ardently attached; went fishing together on long\nsummer days, he catching the fish, and I watching the process. When we\ndedicated the first Brooklyn Tabernacle, he was present, and gave the\nmoney for building a baptistry in the pulpit, and gave besides $100 for\nhis wife and each one of his children. When we parted from each other at\nOxford, England, he to go to Geneva, Switzerland, to die, and I to come\nback to America, much of sweet acquaintanceship and complete confidence\nended for this world, only to be taken up under celestial auspices.\n\nBut time and space would fail to tell of the noble men and women that\nstood around me in those early years of my ministry. They are all gone,\nand their personality makes up a large part of my anticipation of the\nworld to come.\n\n\n\n\nTHE THIRD MILESTONE\n\n1856-1862\n\n\nMy first sermons were to me the most tremendous endeavours of my life,\nbecause I felt the awful responsibility of standing in a pulpit, knowing\nthat a great many people would be influenced by what I said concerning\nGod, or the soul, or the great future.\n\nWhen I first began to preach, I was very cautious lest I should be\nmisrepresented, and guarded the subject on all sides. I got beyond that\npoint. I found that I got on better when, without regard to\nconsequences, I threw myself upon the hearts and consciences of my\nhearers.\n\nIn those early days of my pastoral experience I saw how men reason\nthemselves into scepticism. I knew what it was to have a hundred nights\npoured into one hour.\n\nI remember one infidel book in the possession of my student companion.\nHe said, \"DeWitt, would you like to read that book?\" \"Well,\" said I, \"I\nwould like to look at it.\" I read it a little while. I said to him, \"I\ndare not read that book; you had better destroy it. I give you my\nadvice, you had better destroy it. I dare not read that book. I have\nread enough of it.\" \"Oh,\" he said, \"haven't you a stronger mind than\nthat? Can't you read a book you don't exactly believe, and not be\naffected by it?\" I said, \"You had better destroy it.\" He kept it. He\nread it until he gave up the Bible; his belief in the existence of a\nGod, his good morals; until body, mind and soul were ruined--and he went\ninto the insane asylum. I read too much of it. I read about fifteen or\ntwenty pages of it. I wish I had never read it. It never did me any\ngood; it did me harm. I have often struggled with what I read in that\nbook. I rejected it, I denounced it, I cast it out with infinite scorn,\nI hated it; yet sometimes its caricature of good and its eulogium of\nevil have troubled me.\n\nWith supreme gratitude, therefore, I remember the wonderful impression\nmade upon me, when I was a young man, of the presence of a consecrated\nhuman being in the pulpit.\n\nIt was a Sabbath evening in spring at \"The Trinity Methodist Church,\"\nJersey City. Rev. William P. Corbit, the pastor of that church, in\ncompliment to my relatives, who attended upon his services, invited me\nto preach for him. I had only a few months before entered the Gospel\nministry, and had come in from my village settlement to occupy a place\nin the pulpit of the great Methodist orator. In much trepidation on my\npart I entered the church with Mr. Corbit, and sat trembling in the\ncorner of the \"sacred desk,\" waiting for the moment to begin the\nservice. A crowded audience had assembled to hear the pastor of that\nchurch preach, and the disappointment I was about to create added to my\nembarrassment.\n\nThe service opened, and the time came to offer the prayer before sermon.\nI turned to Mr. Corbit and said, \"I wish you would lead in prayer.\" He\nreplied, \"No! sharpen your own knife!\" The whole occasion was to me\nmemorable for its agitations. But there began an acquaintanceship that\nbecame more and more endearing and ardent as the years went by. After he\nceased, through the coming on of the infirmities of age, to occupy a\npulpit of his own, he frequented my church on the Sabbaths, and our\nprayer-meetings during the week. He was the most powerful exhorter I\never heard. Whatever might be the intensity of interest in a revival\nservice, he would in a ten minute address augment it. I never heard him\ndeliver a sermon except on two occasions, and those during my boyhood;\nbut they made lasting impressions upon me. I do not remember the texts\nor the ideas, but they demonstrated the tremendous reality of spiritual\nand eternal things, and showed possibilities in religious address that I\nhad never known or imagined.\n\nHe was so unique in manners, in pulpit oratory, and in the entire type\nof his nature, that no one will ever be able to describe what he was.\nThose who saw and heard him the last ten or fifteen years of his\ndecadence can have no idea of his former power as a preacher of the\nGospel.\n\nThere he is, as I first saw him! Eye like a hawk's. Hair long and\nstraight as a Chippewa Indian's. He was not straight as an arrow, for\nthat suggests something too fragile and short, but more like a\ncolumn--not only straight, but tall and majestic, and capable of holding\nany weight, and without fatigue or exertion. When he put his foot down,\neither literally of figuratively, it was down. Vacillation, or fear, or\nincertitude, or indecision, were strangers to whom he would never be\nintroduced. When he entered a room you were, to use a New Testament\nphrase, \"exceedingly filled with his company.\"\n\nHe was as affectionate as a woman to those whom he liked, and cold as\nGreenland to those whose principles were an affront. He was not only a\nmighty speaker, but a mighty listener. I do not know how any man could\nspeak upon any important theme, standing in his presence, without being\nset on fire by his alert sympathy.\n\nBut he has vanished from mortal sight. What the resurrection will do for\nhim I cannot say. If those who have only ordinary stature and\nunimpressive physique in this world are at the last to have bodies\nresplendent and of supernal potency, what will the unusual corporiety of\nWilliam P. Corbit become? In his case the resurrection will have unusual\nmaterial to start with. If a sculptor can mould a handsome form out of\nclay, what can he not put out of Parian marble? If the blast of the\ntrumpet which wakes the dead rouses life-long invalidism and emaciation\ninto athletic celestialism, what will be the transfiguration when the\nsound of final reanimation touches the ear of those sleeping giants\namong the trees and fountains of Greenwood?\n\nGood-bye, great and good and splendid soul! Good-bye, till we meet\nagain! I will look around for you as soon as I come, if through the\npardoning grace of Christ I am so happy as to reach the place of your\ndestination. Meet me at the gate of the city; or under the tree of life\non the bank of the river; or just inside of the door of the House of\nMany Mansions; or in the hall of the Temple which has no need of stellar\nor lunar or solar illumination, \"For the Lamb is the Light thereof.\"\n\nAfter three years of grace and happiness at Belleville I accepted a call\nto a church in Syracuse. My pastorate there, in the very midst of its\nmost uplifting crisis, was interrupted, as I believe, by Divine orders.\nThe ordeal of deciding anything important in my life has always been a\ndesperate period of anxiety. I never have really decided for myself. God\nhas told me what to do. The first great crisis of this sort came to me\nin Syracuse. While living there I received a pastoral call from the\nSecond Reformed Church of Philadelphia. Six weeks of agony followed.\n\nI was about 30 years of age. The thick shock of hair with which I had\nbeen supplied, in those six weeks was thinned out to its present\nscarcity. My church in Syracuse was made up of as delightful people as\never came together; but I felt that the climate of Philadelphia would be\nbetter adapted to my health, and so I was very anxious to go. But a\nrecent revival in my Syracuse Church, and a movement at that time on\nfoot for extensive repairs of our building, made the question of my\nleaving for another pastorate very doubtful. Six weeks of sleeplessness\nfollowed. Every morning I combed out handfuls of hair as the result of\nthe nervous agitation. Then I decided to stay, and never expected to\nleave those kind parishioners of Syracuse.\n\nA year afterward the call from Philadelphia was repeated, and all the\ncircumstances having changed, I went. But I learned, during those six\nweeks of uncertainty about going from Syracuse to Philadelphia, a lesson\nI shall never forget, and a lesson that might be useful to others in\nlike crisis: namely, that it is one's duty to stay where you are until\nGod makes it evident that you should move.\n\nIn all my life I never had one streak of good luck. But I have had a\ngood God watching and guiding me.\n\nWhile I was living in Syracuse I delivered my first lecture. It was a\nliterary lecture. My ideas of a literary lecture are very much changed\nfrom what they used to be. I used to think that a lecture ought to be\nsomething very profound. I began with three or four lectures of that\nkind in stock. My first lecture audience was in a patient community of\nthe town of Hudson, N.Y. All my addresses previously had been literary.\nI had made speeches on literature and patriotism, and sometimes filled\nthe gaps when in lecture courses speakers announced failed to arrive.\n\nBut the first paid lecture was at Hudson. The fifty dollars which I\nreceived for it seemed immense. Indeed it was the extreme price paid\nanyone in those days. It was some years later in life that I got into\nthe lecturing field. It was always, however, subordinate to my chief\nwork of preaching the Gospel.\n\nSyracuse in 1859 was the West. I felt there all the influences that are\nnow western. Now there is no West left. They have chased it into the\nPacific Ocean.\n\nIn 1862 I accepted a call to the Second Reformed Church of Philadelphia.\n\nWhat remembrances come to me, looking backward to this period of our\nterrific national carnalism! I shall never forget the first time I ever\nsaw Abraham Lincoln. We followed into his room, at the White House, a\ncommittee that had come to Washington to tell the President how to\nconduct the war. The saddest-looking man I ever saw was Abraham Lincoln.\nHe had a far-away look while he stood listening to an address being made\nto him by one of the committee, as though beyond and far and wide he\ncould see the battlefields and hospitals and conflagrations of national\nbereavement. One of our party asked for his autograph; he cheerfully\ngave it, asking, \"Is that all I can do for you?\" He was at that time\nthe most abused man in America.\n\nI remember the alarm in Philadelphia when General Lee's army invaded\nPennsylvania. Merchants sent their goods quietly to New York. Residents\nhid their valuables. A request for arms was made at the arsenals, and\nmilitary companies were organised. Preachers appealed to the men in\ntheir congregations, organised companies, engaged a drill sergeant, and\ncarried on daily drills in the yards adjoining their churches.\n\nIn the regiment I joined for a short time there were many clergymen. It\nwas the most awkward squad of men ever got together. We drilled a week\nor two, and then disbanded. Whether General Lee heard of the formation\nof our regiment or not I cannot say, but he immediately retreated across\nthe Potomac.\n\nThere were in Philadelphia and its vicinity many camps of prisoners of\nwar, hospitals for the sick and wounded. Waggon trains of supplies for\nthe soldiers were constantly passing through the streets. I was\nprivileged to be of some service in the field to the Christian\nCommission. With Dr. Brainerd and Samuel B. Falls I often performed some\nduty at the Cooper shop; while with George H. Stuart and George T.\nMerigens I invited other cities to make appeals for money to forward the\ngreat work of the Secretary and Christian Commissions. In our churches\nwe were constantly busy getting up entertainments and fairs to help\nthose rendered destitute by the loss of fathers and brothers in the\nfield.\n\nJust before the battle of Gettysburg a long procession of clergymen,\nheaded by Dr. Brainerd, marched to Fairmount Park with spades over their\nshoulders to throw up entrenchments. The victory of the Federal troops\nat Vicksburg and Gettysburg rendered those earthworks unnecessary.\n\nA distinguished gentleman of the Civil War told me that Abraham Lincoln\nproposed to avoid our civil conflict by purchasing the slaves of the\nSouth and setting them free. He calculated what would be a reasonable\nprice for them, and when the number of millions of dollars that would be\nrequired for such a purpose was announced the proposition was scouted,\nand the North would not have made the offer, and the South would not\nhave accepted it, if made.\n\n\"But,\" said my military friend, \"the war went on, and just the number of\nmillion dollars that Mr. Lincoln calculated would have been enough to\nmake a reasonable purchase of all the slaves were spent in war, besides\nall the precious lives that were hurled away in 250 battles.\"\n\nThere ought to be some other way for men to settle their controversies\nwithout wholesale butchering.\n\nIt was due partly to the national gloom that overspread the people\nduring the Civil War that I took to the lecture platform actively. I\nentered fully into the lecturing field when I went to Philadelphia,\nwhere DeWitt Moore, officer in my church and a most intimate friend,\nasked me to lecture for the benefit of a Ball Club to which he belonged.\nThat lecture in a hall in Locust Street, Philadelphia, opened the way\nfor more than I could do as lecturer.\n\nI have always made such engagements subordinate to my chief work of\npreaching the Gospel. Excepting two long journeys a year, causing each\nan absence of two Sundays, I have taken no lecturing engagements, except\none a week, generally Thursdays. Lecturing has saved my life and\nprolonged my work. It has taken me from an ever-ringing door-bell, and\nfreshened me for work, railroad travelling being to me a recuperation.\n\nI have lectured in nearly all the cities of the United States, Canada,\nEngland, Ireland and Scotland, and in most of them many times. The\nprices paid me have seemed too large, but my arrangements have generally\nbeen made through bureaus, and almost invariably local committees have\ncleared money. The lecture platform seemed to me to offer greater\nopportunity for usefulness. Things that could not be said in the pulpit,\nbut which ought to be said, may be said on the lyceum platform. And\nthere was so much that had to be said then, to encourage, to cheer, to\nbrighten, to illumine the sorrow and bereavement. From the first I\nregarded my lecture tours as an annex to my church. The lecture platform\nhas been to me a pastoral visitation. It has given me an opportunity of\nmeeting hundreds of thousands of people to whom, through the press, I\nhave for many years administered the Gospel.\n\nPeople have often asked me how much money I received for my lectures.\nThe amounts have been a great surprise to me, often.\n\nFor many years I have been paid from $400 to $1,000 a lecture. The\nlonger the journey the bigger the fee usually. The average remuneration\nwas about $500 a night. In Cleveland and in Cincinnati I received $750.\nIn Chicago, $1,000. Later I was offered $6,000 for six lectures in\nChicago, to be delivered one a month, during the World's Fair, but I\ndeclined them.\n\nMy expenses in many directions have been enormous, and without a large\nincome for lectures I could not have done many things which I felt it\nimportant to do. I have always been under obligation to the press.\nSometimes it has not intended to help me, but it has, being hard pressed\nfor news.\n\nDuring the Civil War, when news was sufficiently exciting for the most\nambitious journalist, they used to come to my church for a copy of my\nSermons. News in those days was pretty accurate, but it sometimes went\nwrong.\n\nOn a Sabbath night, at the close of a preaching service in Philadelphia,\na reporter of one of the prominent newspapers came into my study\nadjoining the pulpit and asked of me a sketch of the sermon just\ndelivered, as he had been sent to take it, but had been unavoidably\ndetained. His mind did not seem to be very clear, but I dictated to him\nabout a column of my sermon. He had during the afternoon or evening been\nattending a meeting of the Christian Commission for raising funds for\nthe hospitals, and ex-Governor Pollock had been making a speech. The\nreporter had that speech of the ex-Governor of Pennsylvania in his hand,\nand had the sketch of my sermon in the same bundle of reportorial notes.\nHe opened the door to depart and said, \"Good evening,\" and I responded,\n\"Good evening.\" The way out from my study to the street was through a\ndark alley across which a pump handle projected to an unreasonable\nextent. \"Look out for that pump handle,\" I said, \"or you may get hurt.\"\nBut the warning did not come soon enough. I heard the collision and then\na hard fall, and a rustle of papers, and a scramble, and then some words\nof objurgation at the sudden overthrow.\n\nThere was no portable light that I could take to his assistance. Beside\nthat, I was as much upset with cruel laughter as the reporter had been\nby the pump handle. In this state of helplessness I shut the door. But\nthe next morning newspaper proved how utter had been the discomfiture\nand demoralisation of my journalistic friend. He put my sermon under the\nname of ex-Governor Pollock at the meeting of the Christian Commission,\nand he made my discourse begin with the words, \"When I was Governor of\nPennsylvania.\"\n\nNever since John Gutenberg invented the art of printing was there such a\nriot of types or such mixing up of occasions. Philadelphia went into a\nbrown study as to what it all meant, and the more the people read of\nex-Governor Pollock's speech and of my sermon of the night before, the\nmore they were stunned by the stroke of that pump handle.\n\nBut it was soon forgotten--everything is. The memory of man is poor. All\nthe talk about the country never forgetting those who fought for it is\nan untruth. It does forget. Picture how veterans of the war sometimes\nhad to turn the hand-organs on the streets of Philadelphia to get a\nliving for their families! How ruthlessly many of them have been turned\nout of office that some bloat of a politician might take their place!\nThe fact is, there is not a man or woman under thirty years of age, who,\nborn before the war, has any full appreciation of the four years\nmartyrdom of 1861 to 1865, inclusive. I can scarcely remember, and yet I\nstill feel the pressure of domestic calamity that overshadowed the\nnation then.\n\nSince things have been hardened, as was the guardsman in the Crimean War\nwho heartlessly wrote home to his mother: \"I do not want to see any more\ncrying letters come to the Crimea from you. Those I have received I have\nput into my rifle, after loading it, and have fired them at the\nRussians, because you appear to have a strong dislike of them. If you\nhad seen as many killed as I have you would not have as many weak ideas\nas you now have.\"\n\nAfter the War came a period of great national rejoicing. I shall never\nforget, in the summer of 1869, a great national peace jubilee was held\nin Boston, and DeWitt Moore, an elder of my church, had been honoured by\nthe selection of some of his music to be rendered on that occasion. I\naccompanied him to the jubilee. Forty thousand people sat and stood in\nthe great Colosseum erected for that purpose. Thousands of wind and\nstringed instruments; twelve thousand trained voices! The masterpieces\nof all ages rendered, hour after hour, and day after day--Handel's\n\"Judas Maccabaeus,\" Spohr's \"Last Judgment,\" Beethoven's \"Mount of\nOlives,\" Haydn's \"Creation,\" Mendelssohn's \"Elijah,\" Meyerbeer's\n\"Coronation March,\" rolling on and up in surges that billowed against\nthe heavens! The mighty cadences within were accompanied on the outside\nby the ringing of the bells of the city, and cannon on the common, in\nexact time with the music, discharged by electricity, thundering their\nawful bars of a harmony that astounded all nations. Sometimes I bowed my\nhead and wept. Sometimes I stood up in the enchantment, and sometimes\nthe effect was so overpowering I felt I could not endure it.\n\nWhen all the voices were in full chorus, and all the batons in full\nwave, and all the orchestra in full triumph, and a hundred anvils under\nmighty hammers were in full clang, and all the towers of the city rolled\nin their majestic sweetness, and the whole building quaked with the boom\nof thirty cannon, Parepa Rosa, with a voice that will never again be\nequalled on earth until the archangelic voice proclaims that time shall\nbe no longer, rose above all other sounds in her rendering of our\nnational air, the \"Star Spangled Banner.\" It was too much for a mortal,\nand quite enough for an immortal, to hear: and while some fainted, one\nwomanly spirit, released under its power, sped away to be with God. It\nwas a marvel of human emotion in patriotic frenzy.\n\nImmediately following the Civil War there was a great wave of\nintemperance, and bribery swept over our land. The temptation to\nintemperance in public places grew more and more terrific. Of the men\nwho were prominent in political circles but few died respectably. The\nmajority among them died of delirium tremens. The doctor usually fixed\nup the case for the newspapers, and in his report to them it was usually\ngout, or rheumatism, or obstruction of the liver, or exhaustion from\npatriotic services--but we all knew it was whiskey. That which smote the\nvillain in the dark alley smote down the great orator and the great\nlegislator. The one you wrapped in a rough cloth, and pushed into a\nrough coffin, and carried out in a box waggon, and let him down into a\npauper's grave, without a prayer or a benediction. Around the other\ngathered the pomp of the land; and lordly men walked with uncovered\nheads beside the hearse tossing with plumes on the way to a grave to be\nadorned with a white marble shaft, all four sides covered with eulogium.\nThe one man was killed by logwood rum at two cents a glass, the other by\na beverage three dollars a bottle. I write both their epitaphs. I write\nthe one epitaph with my lead pencil on the shingle over the pauper's\ngrave; I write the other epitaph with a chisel, cutting on the white\nmarble of the senator: \"Slain by strong drink.\" The time came when\ndissipation was no longer a hindrance to office in this country. Did we\nnot at one time have a Secretary of the United States carried home dead\ndrunk? Did we not have a Vice-President sworn in so intoxicated the\nwhole land hid its head in shame? Judges and jurors and attorneys\nsometimes tried important cases by day, and by night caroused together\nin iniquity.\n\nDuring the war whiskey had done its share in disgracing manhood. What\nwas it that defeated the armies sometimes in the late war? Drunkenness\nin the saddle! What mean those graves on the heights of Fredericksburg?\nAs you go to Richmond you see them. Drunkenness in the saddle. In place\nof the bloodshed of war, came the deformations of character,\nlibertinism!\n\nAgain and again it was demonstrated that impurity walked under the\nchandeliers of the mansion, and dozed on damask upholstery. In Albany,\nin Harrisburg, in Trenton, in Washington, intemperance was rife in\npublic places.\n\nThe two political parties remained silent on the question. Hand in hand\nwith intemperance went the crime of bribery by money--by proffered\noffice.\n\nFor many years after the war had been almost forgotten, in many of the\nlegislatures it was impossible to get a bill through unless it had\nfinancial consideration.\n\nThe question was asked softly, sometimes very softly, in regard to a\nbill: \"Is there any money in it?\" And the lobbies of the Legislatures\nand the National Capitol were crowded with railroad men and\nmanufacturers and contractors. The iniquity became so great that\nsometimes reformers and philanthropists have been laughed out of\nHarrisburg, and Albany, and Trenton, and Washington, because they came\nempty-handed. \"You vote for this bill, and I'll vote for that bill.\"\n\"You favour that monopoly of a moneyed institution, and I'll favour the\nother monopoly of another institution.\" And here is a bill that is going\nto be very hard to get through the Legislature, and some friends met\ntogether at a midnight banquet, and while intoxicated promised to vote\nthe same way. Here are $5,000 for prudent distribution in this\ndirection, and here are $1,000 for prudent distribution in that\ndirection. Now, we are within four votes of having enough. $5,000 to\nthat intelligent member from Westchester, and $2,000 to that stupid\nmember from Ulster, and now we are within two votes of having it. Give\n$500 to this member, who will be sick and stay at home, and $300 to this\nmember, who will go to see his great-aunt languishing in her last\nsickness. The day has come for the passing of the bill. The Speaker's\ngavel strikes. \"Senators, are you ready for the question? All in favour\nof voting away these thousands of millions of dollars will say, 'Ay.'\"\n\"Ay! Ay! Ay! Ay!\" \"The Ays have it.\" It was a merciful thing that all\nthis corruption went on under a republican form of government. Any other\nstyle of government would have been consumed by it long ago. There were\nenough national swindles enacted in this country after the war--yes,\nthirty years afterwards--to swamp three monarchies.\n\nThe Democratic party filled its cup of iniquity as it went out of power,\nbefore the war. Then the Republican party came along and it filled its\ncup of iniquity a little sooner; and there they lie, the Democratic\nparty and the Republican party, side by side, great loathsome carcasses\nof iniquity, each one worse than the other.\n\nThese are reminiscences of more than thirty years ago, and yet it seems\nthat I have never ceased to fight the same sort of human temptations and\nfrailties to this very day.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOURTH MILESTONE\n\n1862-1877\n\n\nI spent seven of the most delightful years of my life in Philadelphia.\nWhat wonderful Gospel men were round me in the City of Brotherly Love at\nthis time--such men as Rev. Alfred Barnes, Rev. Dr. Boardman, Rev. Dr.\nBerg, Rev. Charles Wadsworth, and many others equally distinguished. I\nshould probably never have left Philadelphia except that I was afraid I\nwould get too lazy. Being naturally indolent I wanted to get somewhere\nwhere I would be compelled to work. I have sometimes felt that I was\nnaturally the laziest man ever born. I am afraid of indolence--as afraid\nof indolence as any reformed inebriate is afraid of the wine cup. He\nknows if he shall take one glass he will be flung back into inebriety. I\nam afraid, if I should take one long pull of nothing to do, I should\nstop forever.\n\nMy church in Philadelphia was a large one, and it was crowded with\nlovely people. All that a congregation could do for a pastor's happiness\nthey were doing, and always had done.\n\nWe ministers living in Philadelphia at this time may have felt the need\nfor combating indolence, for we had a ministerial ball club, and twice a\nweek the clergymen of all denominations went out to the suburbs of the\ncity and played baseball. We went back to our pulpits, spirits\nlightened, theology improved, and able to do better service for the\ncause of God than we could have done without that healthful shaking up.\n\nThe reason so many ministers think everything is going to ruin is\nbecause their circulation is lethargic, or their lungs are in need of\ninflection by outdoor exercise. I have often wished since that this\nsplendid idea among the ministers in Philadelphia could have been\nemulated elsewhere. Every big city should have its ministerial ball\nclub. We want this glorious game rescued from the roughs and put into\nthe hands of those who will employ it in recuperation.\n\nMy life in Philadelphia was so busy that I must have had very little\ntime for keeping any record or note-books. Most of my warmest and\nlife-long friendships were made in Philadelphia, however, and in the\nretrospect of the years since I left there I have sometimes wondered how\nI ever found courage to say good-bye.\n\nI was amazed and gratified one day at receiving a call from four of the\nmost prominent churches at that time in America: Calvary Church of\nChicago, the Union Church of Boston, the First Presbyterian Church of\nSan Francisco, and the Central Church of Brooklyn. These invitations all\ncame simultaneously in February, 1869. The committees from these various\nchurches called upon me at my house in Philadelphia. It was a period of\nanxious uncertainty with me. One morning, I remember, a committee from\nChicago was in one room, a committee from Brooklyn in another room of my\nhouse, and a committee from my Philadelphia church in another room. My\nwife [B] passed from room to room entertaining them to keep the three\ncommittees from meeting. It would have been unpleasant for them to meet.\n\n     [B] _In 1863, Dr. Talmage married his second wife, Miss\n         Susan C. Whittemore, of Greenport, N.Y. They had five\n         children: May, Edith, Frank, Maud, and Daisy._\n\nAt this point my Syracuse remembrance of perplexity returned, and I\nresolved to stay in Philadelphia unless God made it very plain that I\nwas to go and where I was to go. An engagement to speak that night in\nHarrisburg, Pennsylvania, took me to the depot. I got on the train, my\nmind full of the arguments of the three committees, and all a\nbewilderment. I stretched myself out upon the seats for a sound sleep,\nsaying, \"Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do? Make it plain to me when I\nwake up.\" When I awoke I was entering Harrisburg, and as plainly as\nthough the voice had been audible God said to me, \"Go to Brooklyn.\" I\nwent, and never have doubted that I did right to go. It is always best\nto stay where you are until God gives you marching orders, and then move\non.\n\nI succeeded the Rev. J.E. Rockwell in the Brooklyn Church, who resigned\nonly a month or so before I accepted the call. Mr. Charles Cravat\nConverse, LL.D., an elder of the Church, presented the call to me, being\nappointed to do so by the Board of Trustees and the Session, after I had\nbeen unanimously elected by the congregation at a special meeting for\nthat purpose held on February 16, 1869. The salary fixed was $7,000,\npayable monthly.\n\nIn looking over an old note-book I carried in that year I find, under\ndate of March 22, 1869, the word \"installed\" written in my own\nhandwriting. It was written in pencil after the service of installation\nheld in the church that Monday evening. The event is recorded in the\nminutes of the regular meetings of the church as follows:\n\n\"Monday evening, March 22, the Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage having been\nreceived as a member of the Presbytery of Nassau, was this evening\ninstalled pastor of this church. The Rev. C.S. Pomeroy preached the\nsermon and proposed the constitutional questions. Rev. Mr. Oakley\ndelivered the charge to the pastor, and Rev. Henry Van Dyke, D.D.,\ndelivered the charge to the people; and the services were closed with\nthe benediction by the pastor, and a cordial shaking of hands by the\npeople with their new pastor.\"\n\nThe old church stood on Schemerhorn Street, between Nevins and Power\nStreets. It was a much smaller church community than the one I had left\nin Philadelphia, but there was a glorious opportunity for work in it. I\nremember hearing a minister of a small congregation complain to a\nminister of a large congregation about the sparseness of attendance at\nhis church. \"Oh,\" said the one of large audience, \"my son, you will find\nin the day of judgment that you had quite enough people for whom to be\nheld accountable.\"\n\nMy church in Brooklyn prospered. In about three months from the date of\nmy installation it was too small to hold the people who came there to\nworship. This came about, not through any special demonstration of my\nown superior gifts, but by the help of God and the persecution of\nothers.\n\nDuring my pastorate in Brooklyn a certain group of preachers began to\nslander me and to say all manner of lies about me; I suppose because\nthey were jealous of my success. These calumnies were published in every\nimportant newspaper in the country. The result was that the New York\ncorrespondents of the leading papers in the chief cities of the United\nStates came to my church on Sundays, expecting I would make counter\nattacks, which would be good news. I never said a word in reply, with\nthe exception of a single paragraph.\n\nThe correspondents were after news, and, failing to get the sensational\ncharges, they took down the sermons and sent them to the newspaper.\n\nMany times have I been maligned and my work misrepresented; but all such\nfalsehood and persecution have turned out for my advantage and enlarged\nmy work.\n\nWhoever did escape it?\n\nI was one summer in the pulpit of John Wesley, in London--a pulpit where\nhe stood one day and said: \"I have been charged with all the crimes in\nthe calendar except one--that of drunkenness,\" and his wife arose in the\naudience and said: \"You know you were drunk last night.\"\n\nI saw in a foreign journal a report of one of George Whitefield's\nsermons--a sermon preached a hundred and twenty or thirty years ago. It\nseemed that the reporter stood to take the sermon, and his chief idea\nwas to caricature it, and these are some of the reportorial interlinings\nof the sermon of George Whitefield. After calling him by a nickname\nindicative of a physical defect in the eye, it goes on to say: \"Here the\npreacher clasps his chin on the pulpit cushion. Here he elevates his\nvoice. Here he lowers his voice. Holds his arms extended. Bawls aloud.\nStands trembling. Makes a frightful face. Turns up the whites of his\neyes. Clasps his hands behind him. Clasps his arms around him, and hugs\nhimself. Roars aloud. Holloas. Jumps. Cries. Changes from crying.\nHolloas and jumps again.\"\n\nOne would have thought that if any man ought to have been free from\npersecution it was George Whitefield, bringing great masses of the\npeople into the kingdom of God, wearing himself out for Christ's sake:\nand yet the learned Dr. Johnson called him a mountebank. Robert Hall\npreached about the glories of heaven as no uninspired man ever preached\nabout them, and it was said when he preached about heaven his face shone\nlike an angel's, and yet good Christian John Foster writes of Robert\nHall, saying: \"Robert Hall is a mere actor, and when he talks about\nheaven the smile on his face is the reflection of his own vanity.\" John\nWesley stirred all England with reform, and yet he was caricatured by\nall the small wits of his day. He was pictorialised, history says, on\nthe board fences of London, and everywhere he was the target for the\npunsters; yet John Wesley stands to-day before all Christendom, his name\nmighty. I have preached a Gospel that is not only appropriate to the\nhome circle, but is appropriate to Wall Street, to Broadway, to Fulton\nStreet, to Montague Street, to Atlantic Street, to every street--not\nonly a religion that is good for half past ten o'clock Sunday morning,\nbut good for half past ten o'clock any morning. This was one of the\nconsiderations in my work as a preacher of the Gospel that extended its\nusefulness. A practical religion is what we all need. In my previous\nwork at Belleville, N.J., and in Syracuse, I had absorbed other\nconsiderations of necessity in the business of uniting the human\ncharacter with the church character.\n\nAlthough the Central Presbyterian Church in Brooklyn of which I was\npastor was one of the largest buildings in that city then, it did not\nrepresent my ideal of a church.\n\nI learned in my village pastorates that the Church ought to be a great\nhome circle of fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters. That would be a\nvery strange home circle where the brothers and sisters did not know\neach other, and where the parents were characterised by frigidity and\nheartlessness. The Church must be a great family group--the pulpit the\nfireplace, the people all gathered around it. I think we sometimes can\ntell the people to stay out by our church architecture. People come in\nand find things angular and cold and stiff, and they go away never again\nto come; when the church ought to be a great home circle.\n\nI knew a minister of religion who had his fourth settlement. His first\ntwo churches became extinct as a result of his ministry, the third\nchurch was hopelessly crippled, and the fourth was saved simply by the\nfact that he departed this life. On the other hand, I have seen\npastorates which continued year after year, all the time strengthening,\nand I have heard of instances where the pastoral relation continued\ntwenty years, thirty years, forty years, and all the time the confidence\nand the love were on the increase. So it was with the pastorate of old\nDr. Spencer, so it was with the pastorate of old Dr. Gardiner Spring, so\nit was with the pastorate of a great many of those old ministers of\nJesus Christ, of whom the world was not worthy.\n\nI saw an opportunity to establish in Brooklyn just such a church as I\nhad in my mind's eye--a Tabernacle, where all the people who wanted to\nhear the Gospel preached could come in and be comfortable. I projected,\ndesigned, and successfully established the Brooklyn Tabernacle within a\nlittle over a year after preaching my first sermon in Brooklyn. The\nchurch seated 3,500 people, and yet we were compelled to use the old\nchurch to take care of all our active Christian work besides.\n\nThe first Brooklyn Tabernacle was, I believe, the most buoyant\nexpression of my work that I ever enjoyed. It drew upon all my energies\nand resources, and as the sacred walls grew up towards the skies, I\nprayed God that I might have the strength and spiritual energy to grow\nwith it.\n\nPrayer always meets the emergency, no matter how difficult it may be.\n\nThat was the substantial backing of the first Brooklyn\nTabernacle--prayer. Prayer furnished the means as well as the faith that\nwas behind them. I was merely the promoter, the agent, of a company\norganised in Heaven to perpetuate the Gospel of Christ. It was\nconsidered a great thing to have done, and many were the reasons\nwhispered by the worldly and the envious and the orthodox, for its\nsuccess. Some said it was due to magnetism.\n\nAs a cord or rope can bind bodies together, there may be an invisible\ncord binding souls. A magnetic man throws it over others as a hunter\nthrows a lasso. Some men are surcharged with this influence, and have\nemployed it for patriotism and Christianity and elevated purposes.\n\nIt is always a surprise to a great majority of people how churches are\nbuilt, how money for which the world has so many other uses can be\nobtained to build churches. There are names of men and women whom I have\nonly to mention and they suggest at once not only great wealth, but\nreligion, generosity, philanthropy, such as Amos Laurence, James Lennox,\nPeter Cooper, William E. Dodge, Miss Wolfe, Mrs. William Astor. A good\nmoral character can be accompanied by affluent circumstances.\n\nIn the '70's and '80's in Brooklyn and in New York there were merchants\nwho had prospered, but by Christian methods--merchants who took their\nreligion into everyday life. I became accustomed, Sabbath after Sabbath,\nto stand before an audience of bargain-makers. Men in all\noccupations--yet the vast majority of them, I am very well aware, were\nengaged from Monday morning to Saturday night in the store. In many of\nthe families of my congregations across the breakfast table and the tea\ntable were discussed questions of loss and gain. \"What is the value of\nthis? What is the value of that?\" They would not think of giving\nsomething of greater value for that which is of lesser value. They would\nnot think of selling that which cost ten dollars for five dollars. If\nthey had a property that was worth $15,000, they would not sell it for\n$4,000. All were intelligent in matters of bargain-making.\n\nBut these were not the sort of men who made generous investments for\nGod's House. There was one that sort, however, among my earliest\nremembrances, Arthur Tappen. There were many differences of opinion\nabout his politics, but no one who ever knew Arthur Tappen, and knew him\nwell, doubted his being an earnest Christian. Arthur Tappen was derided\nin his day because he established that system by which we come to find\nout the commercial standing of business men. He started that entire\nsystem, was derided for it then; I knew him well, in moral character A1.\nMonday mornings he invited to a room in the top of his storehouse in New\nYork the clerks of his establishment. He would ask them about their\nworldly interests and their spiritual interests, then giving out a hymn\nand leading in prayer he would give them a few words of good advice,\nasking them what church they attended on the Sabbath, what the text was,\nwhether they had any especial troubles of their own.\n\nArthur Tappen, I have never heard his eulogy pronounced. I pronounce it\nnow. There were other merchants just as good--William E. Dodge in the\niron business, Moses H. Grinnell in the shipping business, Peter Cooper\nin the glue business, and scores of men just as good as they were.\n\nI began my work of enlarging and improving the Brooklyn Church almost\nthe week following my installation. My first vacation, a month, began on\nJune 25, 1869, the trustees of the church having signified and ordered\nrepairs, alterations and improvements at a meeting held that day, and\nfurther suspending Sabbath services for four weeks. I spent part of my\nvacation at East Hampton, L.I., going from there for two or three short\nlecturing trips. I find that I can never rest over two weeks. More than\nthat wearies me. Of all the places I have ever known East Hampton is the\nbest place for quiet and recuperation.\n\nI became acquainted with it through my brother-in-law, Rev. S.L.\nMershon. His first pastorate was at the Presbyterian Church in East\nHampton, where, as a young man, I preached some of my first sermons.\nEast Hampton is always home to me. When a boy in grammar-school and\ncollege I used to visit my brother-in-law and his wife, my sister Mary.\nLater in life I established a summer home there myself. I particularly\nrecall one incident of this month's vacation that has affected my whole\nlife. One day while resting at Sharon Springs, New York, walking in the\nPark of that place, I found myself asking the question: \"I wonder if\nthere is any special mission for me to execute in this world? If there\nis, may God show it to me!\"\n\nThere soon came upon me a great desire to preach the Gospel through the\nsecular printing-press. I realised that the vast majority of people,\neven in Christian lands, never enter a church, and that it would be an\nopportunity of usefulness infinite if that door of publication were\nopened. And so I recorded that prayer in a blank book, and offered the\nprayer day in and day out until the answer came, though in a way\ndifferent from that which I had expected, for it came through the\nmisrepresentation and persecution of enemies; and I have to record it\nfor the encouragement of all ministers of the Gospel who are\nmisrepresented, that if the misrepresentation be virulent enough and\nbitter enough and continuous enough, there is nothing that so widens\none's field of usefulness as hostile attack, if you are really doing the\nLord's work. The bigger the lie told about me the bigger the demand to\nsee and hear what I really was doing. From one stage of sermonic\npublication to another the work has gone on, until week by week, and for\nabout twenty-three years, I have had the world for my audience as no man\never had. The syndicates inform me that my sermons go now to about\ntwenty-five millions of people in all lands. I mention this not in vain\nboast, but as a testimony to the fact that God answers prayer. Would God\nI had better occupied the field and been more consecrated to the work!\n\nThe following summer, or rather early spring, I requested an extension\nof my vacation time, in order to carry out a plan to visit the \"Old\nWorld.\" As the trustees of the church considered that the trip might be\nof value to the church as well as to myself, I was given \"leave of\nabsence from pastoral duties\" for three months' duty from June 18, 1870.\nAll that I could do had been done in the plans in constructing the new\nTabernacle. I could do nothing by staying at home.\n\nI have crossed the Atlantic so often that the recollections of this\nfirst trip to Europe are, at this writing, merely general. I think the\nmost terrific impression I received was my first sight of the ocean the\nmorning after we sailed, the most instructive were the ruins of church\nand abbey and palaces. I walked up and down the stairs of Holyrood\nPalace, once upon a time considered one of the wonders of the world, and\nI marvelled that so little was left of such a wonderful place. Ruins\nshould be rebuilt.\n\nThe most spiritual impression I received was from the music of church\norgans in the old world.\n\nI stopped one nightfall at Freyburg, Switzerland, to hear the organ of\nworld-wide celebrity in that place. I went into the cathedral at\nnightfall. All the accessories were favourable. There was only one light\nin all the cathedral, and that a faint taper on the altar. I looked up\ninto the venerable arches and saw the shadows of centuries; and when the\norgan awoke the cathedral awoke, and all the arches seemed to lift and\nquiver as the music came under them. That instrument did not seem to be\nmade out of wood and metal, but out of human hearts, so wonderfully did\nit pulsate with every emotion; now laughing like a child, now sobbing\nlike a tempest. At one moment the music would die away until you could\nhear the cricket chirp outside the wall, and then it would roll up until\nit seemed as if the surge of the sea and the crash of an avalanche had\nstruck the organ-pipes at the same moment. At one time that night it\nseemed as if a squadron of saddened spirits going up from earth had met\na squadron of descending angels whose glory beat back the woe.\n\nIn Edinburgh I met Dr. John Brown, author of the celebrated \"Rab and his\nFriends.\" That one treatise gave him immortality and fame, and yet he\nwas taken at his own request to the insane asylum and died insane.\n\n\"What are you writing now, Dr. Brown?\" I said to him in his study in\nEdinburgh.\n\n\"Oh, nothing,\" he replied, \"I never could write. I shall never try\nagain.\"\n\nI saw on his face and heard in his voice that melancholy that so often\nunhorsed him.\n\nI went to Paris for the first time in this summer of 1870. It was during\nthe Franco-German war. I stood studying the exquisite sculpturing of the\ngate of the Tuileries. Lost in admiration of the wonderful art of that\ngate I knew not that I was exciting suspicion. Lowering my eyes to the\ncrowds of people I found myself being closely inspected by government\nofficials, who from my complexion judged me to be a German, and that for\nsome belligerent purpose I might be examining the gates of the palace.\nMy explanations in very poor French did not satisfy them, and they\nfollowed me long distances until I reached my hotel, and were not\nsatisfied until from my landlord they found that I was only an\ninoffensive American. Inoffensive Americans were quite as welcome in\nEurope in 1870 as they are now. I was not curious of the signs I found\nanywhere about me of aristocratic grandeur, of the deference paid to\nlineage and ancient family name. I know in America some people look back\non the family line, and they are proud to see that they are descended\nfrom the Puritans or the Huguenots, and they rejoice in that as though\ntheir ancestors had accomplished a great thing to repudiate a Catholic\naristocracy.\n\nI look back on my family line, and I see there such a mingling and\nmixture of the blood of all nationalities that I feel akin to all the\nworld. I returned from my first visit to Europe more thankful than ever\nfor the mercy of having been born in America. The trip did me\nimmeasurable good. It strengthened my faith in the breadth and\nsimplicity of a broadminded religion. We must take care how we extend\nour invitation to the Church, that it be understandable to everyone.\nPeople don't want the scientific study of religion.\n\nOn Sunday morning, September 25, 1870, the new Tabernacle erected on\nSchemerhorn Street was dedicated to the worship of Almighty God. It was\nto my mind a common-sense church, as I had planned it to be. In many of\nour churches we want more light, more room, more ventilation, more\ncomfort. Vast sums of money are expended on ecclesiastical structures,\nand men sit down in them, and you ask a man how he likes the church: he\nsays, \"I like it very well, but I can't hear.\" The voice of the preacher\ndashes against the pillars. Men sit down under the shadows of the Gothic\narches and shiver, and feel they must be getting religion, or something\nelse, they feel so uncomfortable.\n\nWe want more common sense in the rearing of churches. There is no excuse\nfor lack of light when the heavens are full of it, no excuse for lack of\nfresh air when the world swims in it. It ought to be an expression, not\nonly of our spiritual happiness, but of our physical comfort, when we\nsay: \"How amiable are Thy tabernacles, O Lord God of Hosts! A day in\nThy courts is better than a thousand.\"\n\nMy dedication sermon was from Luke xiv. 23, \"And the Lord said unto the\nservants, go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come\nin that my house may be filled.\" The Rev. T.G. Butter, D.D., offered the\ndedicatory prayer. Other clergymen, whose names I do not recall, were\npresent and assisted at the services. The congregation in attendance was\nvery large, and at the close of the services a subscription and\ncollection were taken up amounting to $13,000, towards defraying the\nexpenses and cost of the church.\n\nIn less than a year later the congregation had grown so large and the\nattendance of strangers so pressing that the new church was enlarged\nagain, and on September 10, 1871, the Tabernacle was rededicated with\nimpressive services. The sermon was preached by my friend the Rev.\nStephen H. Tyng, D.D. He was a great worker, and suffered, as many of us\nin the pulpit do, from insomnia. He was the consecrated champion of\neverything good, a constant sufferer from the lash of active work. He\noften told me that the only encouragement he had to think he would sleep\nat night was the fact that he had not slept the night before. Insomnia\nmay be only a big word for those who do not understand its effect. It\nhas stimulated intellectuality, and exhausted it. One of the greatest\nEnglish clergymen had a gas jet on each side of his bed, so that he\nmight read at nights when he could not sleep. Horace Greeley told me he\nhad not had a sound sleep in fifteen years. Charles Dickens understood\nLondon by night better than any other writer, because not being able to\nsleep he spent that time in exploring the city.\n\nI preached at the evening service from the text in Luke xvi. 5: \"How\nmuch owest thou unto my Lord?\" It was a wonderful day for us all. Enough\nmoney was taken in by collections and subscriptions at the morning and\nevening services to pay the floating debt of the church. We received\nthat one day $21,000.\n\nI quote the following resolution made at a meeting in my study the next\nThursday evening of the Session, from the records of the Tabernacle:\n\n\"In regard to the payment of the floating debt of this church and\ncongregation, the Session adopted the following resolution, viz.:--\n\n\"In view of the manifest instance that God has heard the supplications\nof this people regarding the floating debt of the Church, and so\ndirected their hearts as to accomplish the object, it is therefore\nresolved that we set apart next Wednesday evening as a special season of\nreligious thanksgiving to God for his great goodness to us as a Church,\nin granting unto us this deliverance.\"\n\nI reverently and solemnly believe the new Tabernacle was built by\nprayer.\n\nMy congregation with great munificence provided for all my wants, and so\nI can speak without any embarrassment on the subject while I denounce\nthe niggardliness of many of the churches of Jesus Christ, keeping some\nmen, who are very apostles for piety and consecration, in circumstances\nwhere they are always apologetic, and have not that courage which they\nwould have could they stand in the presence of people whom they knew\nwere faithful in the discharge of their financial duties to the\nChristian Church. Alas, for those men of whom the world is not worthy!\nIn the United States to-day the salary of ministers averages less than\nsix hundred dollars, and when you consider that some of the salaries are\nvery large, see to what straits many of God's noblest servants are this\nday reduced! A live church will look after all its financial interests\nand be as prompt in the meeting of those obligations as any bank in any\ncity.\n\nMy church in Brooklyn prospered because it was a soul-saving church. It\nhas always been the ambition of my own church that it should be a\nsoul-saving church. Pardon for all sin! Comfort for all trouble! Eternal\nlife for all the dead!\n\nMoral conditions in the cities of New York and Brooklyn were deplorably\nbad during the first few years I went there to preach. There was an\nonslaught of bad literature and stage immorality. For instance, there\nwas a lady who came forth as an authoress under the assumed name of\nGeorge Sand. She smoked cigars. She dressed like a man. She wrote in\nstyle ardent and eloquent, mighty in its gloom, terrible in its\nunchastity, vivid in its portraiture, damnable in its influence, putting\nforth an evil which has never relaxed, but has hundreds of copyists. Yet\nso much worse were many French books that came to America than anything\nGeorge Sand ever wrote, that if she were alive now she might be thought\nalmost a reformer. What an importation of unclean theatrical stuff was\nbrought to our shores at that time! And yet professors of religion\npatronised such things. I remember particularly the arrival of a foreign\nactress of base morals. She came intending to make a tour of the States,\nbut the remaining decency of our cities rose up and cancelled her\ncontracts, and drove her back from the American stage, a woman fit for\nneither continent. I hope I was instrumental to some degree in her\nbanishment. We were crude in our morals then. I hope we are not merely\ncivilised in them to-day. I hope we understand how to live better than\nwe did then.\n\nScarcely a year after the final dedication of our Tabernacle in 1871 it\nwas completely burned, just before a morning Sabbath service in\nDecember, 1872.\n\nI remember that Sabbath morning. I was coming to the church, when I saw\nthe smoke against the sky. I was living in an outlying section of the\ncity. I had been absent for three weeks, and, as I saw that smoke, I\nsaid to my wife: \"I should not wonder if that is the Tabernacle\"; at the\nsame time, this was said in pleasantry and not in earnest. As we came on\nnearer where the church stood, I said quite seriously: \"I shouldn't\nwonder if it is the Tabernacle.\"\n\nWhen I came within a few blocks, and I saw a good many people in\ndistress running across the street, I said: \"It is the Tabernacle\"; and\nwhen we stood together in front of the burning house of God, it was an\nawfully sad time. We had stood together through all the crises of\nsuffering, and we must needs build a church in the very hardest of\ntimes.\n\nTo put up a structure in those days, and so large a structure and so\nfirm a structure as we needed, was a very great demand upon our\nenergies. The fact that we had to make that struggle in the worst\nfinancial period was doubly hard.\n\nIt was a merciful providence that none of the congregation was in the\nchurch at the time. It was an appalling situation. In spite of the best\nefforts of the fire department, the building was in ruins in a few\nhours. My congregation was in despair, but, in the face of trial, God\nhas always given me all but superhuman strength. In a thousand ways I\nhad been blessed; the Gospel I had preached could not stop then, I\nknew, and while my people were completely discouraged I immediately\nplanned for a newer, larger, more complete Tabernacle. We needed more\nroom for the increasing attendance, and I realised that opportunity\nagain was mine.\n\nWe continued our services in the Academy of Music, in Brooklyn, while\nthe new Tabernacle was being built. Not for a minute did I relax my\nenergies to keep up the work of a practical religion. There were 300,000\npeople in Brooklyn who had never heard the Gospel preached, an army\nworthy of Christian interest. There was room for these 300,000 people in\nthe churches of the city.\n\nThere was plenty of room in heaven for them.\n\nAn ingenious statistician, taking the statement made in Revelation xxi.\nthat the heavenly Jerusalem was measured and found to be twelve thousand\nfurlongs, and that the length and height and breadth of it are equal,\nsays that would make heaven in size nine hundred and forty-eight\nsextillion, nine hundred and eighty-eight quintillion cubic feet; and\nthen reserving a certain portion for the court of heaven and the\nstreets, and estimating that the world may last a hundred thousand\nyears, he ciphers out that there are over five trillion rooms, each room\nseventeen feet long, sixteen feet wide, fifteen feet high. But I have no\nfaith in the accuracy of that calculation. He makes the rooms too small.\nFrom all I can read the rooms will be palatial, and those who have not\nhad enough room in this world will have plenty of room at the last. The\nfact is that most people in this world are crowded, and though out on a\nvast prairie or in a mountain district people may have more room than\nthey want, in most cases it is house built close to house, and the\nstreets are crowded, and the cradle is crowded by other cradles, and the\ngraves crowded in the cemetery by other graves; and one of the richest\nluxuries of many people in getting out of this world will be the gaining\nof unhindered and uncramped room. And I should not wonder if, instead of\nthe room that the statistician ciphered out as only seventeen feet by\nsixteen, it should be larger than any of the rooms at Berlin, St. James,\nor Winter Palace.\n\nSo we built an exceedingly large church. The new Tabernacle seated\ncomfortably 5,000 people. It was open on February 22, 1874, for worship,\nand completed a few months later.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIFTH MILESTONE\n\n1877-1879\n\n\nWithout boast it may be said that I was among those men who with eager\nand persistent vigilance made the heart of Brooklyn feel the Christian\npurpose of the pulpit, and the utility of religion in everyday life. The\nfifteen years following the dedication of the new Tabernacle in 1872\nmark the most active milestone of my career as a preacher.\n\nA minister's recollections are confined to his interpretation of the\nlife about him; the men he knows, the events he sees, the good and the\nbad of his environment and his period become the loose leaves that\nlitter his study table.\n\nI was in the prime of life, just forty years of age. From my private\nnote-books and other sources I begin recollections of the most\nsignificant years in Brooklyn, preceding the local elections in 1877.\nNew York and Brooklyn were playmates then, seeming rivals, but by\npredestined fate bound to grow closer together. I said then that we need\nnot wait for the three bridges which would certainly bind them together.\nThe ferry-boat then touching either side was only the thump of one great\nmunicipal heart. It was plain to me that this greater Metropolis,\nstanding at the gate of this continent, would have to decide the moral\nand political destinies of the whole country.\n\nPrior to the November Elections in 1877, the only cheering phase of\npolitics in Brooklyn and New York was that there were no lower political\ndepths to reach.\n\nThere was in New York at that time political infamy greater than the\nheight of Trinity Church steeple, more stupendous in finance than the\n$10,000,000 spent in building their new Court House. It was a fact that\nthe most notorious gambler in the United States was to get the\nnomination for the high office of State Senator. Both Democrats and\nRepublicans struggled for his election--John Morrisey, hailed as a\nreformer! On behalf of all the respectable homes of Brooklyn and New\nYork I protested against his election. He had been indicted for\nburglary, indicted for assault and battery with intent to kill, indicted\neighteen times for maintaining gambling places in different parts of the\ncountry. He almost made gambling respectable. Tweed trafficked in\ncontracts, Morrisey in the bodies and souls of young men. The District\nAttorney of New York advocated him, and prominent Democrats talked\nthemselves hoarse for him. This nomination was a determined effort of\nthe slums of New York to get representation in the State Government. It\nwas argued that he had _reformed_. The police of New York knew better.\n\nIn Brooklyn the highest local offices in 1877, those of the Collector,\nPolice Commissioners, Fire Commission, Treasurer, and the City Works\nCommissioners, were under the control of one Patrick Shannon, owner of\ntwo gin mills. Wearing the mask of reformers the most astute and\nvillainous politicians piloted themselves into power. They were all\nelected, and it was necessary. It was necessary that New York should\nelect the foremost gambler of the United States for State Senator,\nbefore the people of New York could realise the depths of degradation to\nwhich the politics of that time could sink. If Tweed had stolen only\nhalf as much as he did, investigation and discovery and reform would\nhave been impossible. The re-election of Morrisey was necessary. He was\nelected not by the vote of his old partisans alone, but by Republicans.\nHamilton Fish, General Grant's secretary, voted for him. Peter Cooper,\nthe friend of education and the founder of a great institute, voted for\nhim. The brown-stone-fronts voted for him. The Fifth Avenue equipage\nvoted for him. Murray Hill voted for him. Meanwhile gambling was made\nhonourable. And so the law-breaker became the law-maker.\n\nAmong a large and genteel community in Brooklyn there was a feeling that\nthey were independent of politics. No one can be so. It was felt in the\nhome and in the business offices. It was an influence that poisoned all\nthe foundations of public and private virtue in Brooklyn and New York.\nThe conditions of municipal immorality and wickedness were the worst at\nthis time that ever confronted the pulpits of the City of Churches, as\nBrooklyn was called.\n\nThere was one bright spot in the dark horizon of life around me then,\nhowever, which I greeted with much pleasure and amusement.\n\nIn the early part of November, 1877, President Hayes offered to Colonel\nRobert Ingersoll the appointment of Minister to Germany. The President\nwas a Methodist, and perhaps he thought that was a grand solution of\nIngersollism. It was a mirthful event of the hour--the joke of the\nadministration. Germany was the birthplace of what was then modern\ninfidelity, Colonel Ingersoll had been filling the land with belated\ninfidelism.\n\nOn the stage of the Academy of Music in Brooklyn he had attacked the\nmemory of Tom Paine, assaulted the character of Rev. Dr. Prime, one of\nmy neighbours, the Nestor of religious journalism, and on that same\nstage expressed his opinion that God was a great Ghost. This action of\nPresident Hayes kept me smiling for a week--I appreciated the joke among\nothers.\n\nDuring this month the American Stage suffered the loss of three\ncelebrities: Edwin Adams, George L. Fox, and E.L. Davenport. While the\nTheatre never interested me, and I never entered one, I cannot criticise\nthe dead. Four years before in the Tabernacle I preached a sermon\nagainst the Theatre. I saw there these men, sitting in pews in front of\nme, and that was the only time. They were taking notes of my discourse,\nto which they made public replies on the stage of the Chestnut Street\nTheatre, Philadelphia, and on other stages at the close of their\nperformances. Whatever they may have said of me, I stood uncovered in\nthe presence of the dead, while the curtain of the great future went up\non them. My sympathy was with the destitute households left behind.\nPublic benefits relieved this. I would to God clergymen were as liberal\nto the families of deceased clergymen as play-actors to the families of\ndead play-actors. What a toilsome life, the play-actor's! On the 25th of\nMarch, 1833, Edmund Kean, sick and exhausted, trembled on to the English\nstage for the last time, when he acted in the character of Othello. The\naudience rose and cheered, and the waving of hats and handkerchiefs was\nbewildering, and when he came to the expression, \"Farewell! Othello's\noccupation's gone!\" his chin fell on his breast, and he turned to his\nson and said: \"O God, I am dying! speak to them Charles,\" and the\naudience in sympathy cried, \"Take him off! take him off!\" and he was\ncarried away to die. Poor Edmund Kean! When Schiller, the famous\ncomedian, was tormented with toothache, some one offered to draw the\ntooth. \"No,\" said he, \"but on the 10th of June, when the house closes,\nyou may draw the tooth, for then I shall have nothing to eat with it.\"\nThe impersonation of character is often the means of destroying health.\nMoliere, the comedian, acted the sick man until it proved fatal to him.\nMadame Clarion accounts for her premature old age by the fact that she\nhad been obliged so often on the stage to enact the griefs and\ndistresses of others. Mr. Bond threw so much earnestness into the\ntragedy of \"Zarah,\" that he fainted and died. The life of the actor and\nactress is wearing and full of privation and annoyance, as is any life\nthat depends upon the whims of the public for success.\n\nOne of the events in Church matters, towards the close of this year, was\na pastoral letter of the Episcopal Bishops against Church fairs. So many\nchurches were holding fairs then, they were a recognised social\nattribute of the Church family. This letter aroused the question as to\nwhether it was right or wrong to have Church fairs, and the newspapers\nbecame very fretful about it. I defended the Church fairs, because I\nfelt that if they were conducted on Christian principles they were the\nmeans of an universal sociality and spiritual strength. So far as I had\nbeen acquainted with them, they had made the Church purer, better. Some\nfairs may end in a fight; they are badly managed, perhaps. A Church\nfair, officered by Christian women, held within Christian hours,\nconducted on Christian plans, I approved, the pastoral letter of the\nEpiscopal Bishops notwithstanding.\n\nJust when we were in the midst of this religious tempest of small\nfinances, the will of Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt came up in the\ncourt for discussion. The whole world was anxious then to know if the\nVanderbilt will could be broken. After battling half a century with\ndiseases enough to kill ten men, Mr. Vanderbilt died, an octogenarian,\nleaving over $100,000,000--$95,000,000 to his eldest son--$5,000,000 to\nhis wife, and the remainder to his other children and relations, with\nhere and there a slight recognition of some humane or religious\ninstitution. I said then that the will could not be broken, because\n$95,000,000 in this country seemed too mighty for $5,000,000. It was a\nstrange will, and if Mr. Vanderbilt had been his own executor of it,\nwithout lawyers' interference, I believe it would have been different.\nIt suggests a comparison with George Peabody, who executed the\ndistribution of his property without legal talent. Peabody gave $250,000\nfor a library in his own town in Massachusetts, and in his will left\n$10,000 to the Baltimore Institute, $20,000 to the poor of London,\n$10,000 to Harvard, $150,000 to Yale, $50,000 to Salem, Massachusetts,\nand $3,000,000 to the education of the people of the South in this\ncountry. No wonder he refused a baronetcy which the Queen of England\noffered him, he was a king--the king of human benefaction. That\nVanderbilt will was the seven days wonder of its time.\n\nIt made way only for the President's message issued the first week in\nDecember, 1877. It was, in fact, Mr. Hayes's repudiation of a dishonest\nmeasure prepared by members of Congress to pay off our national debt in\nsilver instead of in gold as had been promised.\n\nThe newspapers received the President's message with indifferent\nopinion. \"It is disappointing,\" said one. \"As a piece of composition it\nis terse and well written,\" said another. \"The President used a good\nmany big words to say very little,\" said another. \"President Hayes will\nsecure a respectful hearing by the ability and character of this\ndocument,\" said another. \"Leaving out his bragging over his policy of\npacification and concerning things he claims to have done, the space\nremaining will be very small,\" said another.\n\nBut all who read the message carefully realised that in it the President\npromised the people to put an end to the dishonour of thieving politics.\nThere was something in the air in Washington that seemed to afflict the\nmen who went there with moral distemper. I was told that Coates Ames was\nalmost a Christian in Massachusetts, while in Washington, from his\nhouse, was born that monster--The Credit Mobilier. Congressmen who in\ntheir own homes would insist upon paying their private obligations,\ndollar for dollar, forgot this standard of business honour when they\nadvocated a swindling policy for the Government of the United States. In\nits day of trouble the Government was glad to promise gold to the people\nwho had confidence in them, and just as gladly the Government proposed\nto swindle them by a silver falsehood in 1877. But the Nation was just\nrecovering from a four years' drunk; Mr. Hayes undertook to steady us,\nduring the aftereffects of our war-spree. Why should we neglect to pay\nin full the price of our four years' unrighteousness? As a nation we\nhad so often been relieved from financial depression up to that time,\nbut, we were just entering a period of unlicensed ethics, not merely in\npublic life, but in all our private standards of morality.\n\nIt seems to me, as I recall the character of Brooklyn life at this time,\nthere never was a period in its history when it was so intolerably\nwicked. And yet, we had 276 churches. One night about Christmas time, in\n1877, Brooklyn Heights was startled by a pistol shot that set everyone\nin New York and Brooklyn to moralising. It was the Johnson tragedy. A\nyoung husband shot his young wife, with intent to kill. She was\nseriously wounded. He went to prison. There was a child, and for the\nsake of that child, who is now probably grown up, I will not relate the\ndetails. In all my experience of life I have heard many stories of\ndomestic failure, but there are always two sides. Those who moralised\nabout it said, \"That's what comes of marrying too young!\" Others,\nmoralising too, said, \"That's what comes of not controlling one's\ntemper.\" Who does control his temper, always?\n\nTo my mind the chief lesson was in the fact that the young men of\nBrooklyn had taken too much of a notion to carry firearms. There was a\npuppyism sprang up in Brooklyn that felt they couldn't live unless they\nwere armed. Young boys went about their daily occupations armed to the\nteeth, as if Fulton Street were an ambush for Indians. I mention this,\nbecause it was a singular phase of the social restlessness and tremor of\nthe times.\n\nIn commercial evolution there was the same indistinctness of standards.\nThe case of Dr. Lambert--the Life Insurance fraud--had no sooner been\ndisposed of, and Lambert sent to Sing-Sing, than the sudden failure of\nBonner & Co., brokers in Wall Street, presented us with the problem of\nbusiness \"rehypothecation.\"\n\nIn my opinion a man has as much right to fail in business as he has to\nget sick and die. In most cases it is more honourable to fail than to go\non. Every insolvent is not necessarily a scoundrel. The greatest crime\nis to fail rich. John Bonner & Co., as brokers, had loaned money on\ndeposited collaterals, and then borrowed still larger sums on the same\ncollaterals. Their creditors were duped to the extent of from one to\nthree millions of dollars. It was the first crime of \"rehypothecation.\"\nIt was not a Wall Street theft; it was a new use for an almost unknown\nword in Noah Webster's dictionary. It was a new word in the rogue's\nvocabulary. It was one of the first attempts made, in my knowledge, to\nsoften the aspect of crime by baptising it in that way. Crime in this\ncountry will always be excused in proportion to how great it is. But\neven in the face of Wall Street tricksters there were signs that the\ndays were gone when the Jay Goulds and the Jim Fisks could hold the\nnation at their mercy.\n\nThe comedy of life is sometimes quite as instructive as a tragedy. There\nwas a flagrant disposition in America, in the late 'seventies, to\ndisplay family affairs in the newspapers. It became an epidemic of\nnotoriety. What a delicious literature it was! The private affairs of\nthe household printed by the million copies. Chief among these\nnovelettes of family life was the Hicks-Lord case. The world was\ninformed one morning in February, 1878, that a Mr. Lord, a millionaire,\nhad united his fortune with a Mrs. Hicks. The children of the former\nwere offended at the second marriage of the latter, more especially so\nas the new reunion might change the direction of the property. The\nfather was accused of being insane by his children, and incapable of\nmanaging his own affairs. The Courts were invoked. One thing was made\nplain to all the world, though, that Mr. Lord at eighty knew more than\nhis children did at thirty or forty. The happy pair were compelled to\nremain in long seclusion because of murderous threats against them, the\nchildren having proposed a corpse instead of a bride. The absorbing\nquestion of weeks, \"Where is Mr. Lord?\" was answered. He was in the\nnewspapers--and the children? they were across the old man's knee, where\nthey belonged. Mr. Lord was right. Mrs. Hicks was right. It was nobody's\nbusiness but their own. Brooklyn and New York were exceeding busy-bodies\nin the late 'seventies. It was a relief to turn one's back upon them\noccasionally, in the pulpit, and search the furthest horizon of Europe.\n\nScarcely had Victor Emmanuel been entombed when on Feb. 7th a tired old\nman, eighty-four years of age, died in the Vatican, Pius IX., a kind and\nforgiving man. His trust was not wholly in the crucifix, but something\nbeyond the crucifix; and yet, how small a man is when measured by the\nlength of his coffin! Events in Europe marshalled themselves into a\nformula of new problems at the beginning of 1878. The complete defeat of\nTurkey by the Russians left England and the United States--allies in the\ngreat causes of civilisation and Christianity--aghast. It was the most\nintense political movement in Europe of my lifetime. I was glad the\nTurkish Empire had perished, but I had no admiration then for Russia,\nonce one of the world's greatest oppressors.\n\nMy deepest sympathies at that time were with England. When England is\nhumiliated the Christian standards of the world are humiliated. Her\nthrone during Queen Victoria's reign was the purest throne in all the\nworld. Remember the girl Victoria, kneeling with her ecclesiastical\nadviser in prayer the night before her coronation, making religious\nvows, not one of which were broken. I urged then that all our American\nchurches throughout the land unite with the cathedrals and churches in\nEngland in shouting \"God Save the Queen.\" England held the balance of\nthe world's power for Christianity in this crisis abroad.\n\nAbout this time, in February, 1878, Senator Pierce presented a Bill\nbefore the Legislature in Albany for a new city charter for Brooklyn. In\nits reform movement it meant that in three years at the most Brooklyn\nand New York would be legally married. Instead of Brooklyn being\ndepressed by New York, New York was to be elevated by Brooklyn. Already\nwe felt at that time, in the light of Senator Pierce's efforts, that\nBrooklyn would become a reformed New York; it would be--New York with\nits cares set aside, New York with its arms folded at rest, New York\nplaying with the children, New York at the tea table, New York gone to\nprayer-meeting. Nine-tenths of the Brooklynites then were spending their\ndays in New York, and their nights in Brooklyn. In the year 1877,\n80,000,000 of people crossed the Brooklyn ferries. Paris is France,\nLondon is England, why not New York the United States?\n\nThe new charter recommended by Senator Pierce urged other reforms in a\nlocal government that was too costly by far. Under right administration\nwho could tell what our beloved city is to be? Prospect Park, the\ngeographical centre, a beautiful picture set in a great frame of\narchitectural affluence. The boulevards reaching to the sea, their\nsides lined the whole distance with luxurious homes and academies of\nart. Our united city a hundred Brightons in one, and the inland\npopulations coming down here to summer and battle in the surf. The great\nAmerican London built by a continent on which all the people are free;\nher vast populations redeemed; her churches thronged with worshipful\nauditories! Before that time we may have fallen asleep amid the long\ngrass of the valleys, but our children will enjoy the brightness and the\nhonour of residence in the great Christian city of the continent and of\nthe world.\n\nIt was this era of optimism in the civic life of Brooklyn that helped to\ndefeat the Lafayette Avenue railroad.\n\nIt was a scheme of New York speculators to deface one of the finest\navenues in Brooklyn. The most profitable business activity in this\ncountry is to invest other people's money. It seemed to me that the\nLafayette railroad deal was only a sort of blackmailing institution to\ncompel the property holders to pay for the discontinuance of the\nenterprise, or the company would sell out to some other company; and as\nthe original company paid nothing all they get is clear gain; and\nwhether the railroad is built or not, the people for years, all along\nthe beautiful route, would be kept in suspense. There was no more need\nof a car track along Lafayette avenue than there was need of one from\nthe top of Trinity Church steeple to the moon! The greater facility of\ntravel, the greater prosperity! But I am opposed to all railroads, the\ndepot for which is an unprincipled speculator's pocket.\n\nIt was only a few weeks later that I had to condemn a much greater\nmatter, a national event.\n\nOn March 1, 1878, the Silver Bill was passed in Washington,\nnotwithstanding the President's veto. The House passed it by a vote of\n196 against 73, and the Senate agreed with a vote of 46 against 10. It\nwould be asking too much to expect anyone to believe that the 196 men in\nCongress were bought up. So far as I knew the men, they were as honest\non one side of the vote as on the other. Senator Conkling, that giant of\nintegrity, opposed it. Alexander H. Stephens voted for it. I talked with\nMr. Stephens about it, and he said to me at the time, \"Unless the Silver\nBill pass, in the next six months there will not be two hundred business\nhouses in New York able to stand.\" Still, the Silver Bill seemed like\nthe first step towards repudiation of our national obligation, but I\nbelieve that at least 190 out of those 196 men who voted for it would\nhave sacrificed their lives rather than repudiate our national debt.\n\nI had an opportunity to comprehend the political explosion of the\npassage of this Bill all over the country, for it so happened I made a\nlecturing trip through the South and South-west during the month of\nMarch, 1878.\n\nThere is one word that described the whole feeling in the South at this\ntime, and that was \"hope.\" The most cheerful city, I found, was New\nOrleans. She was rejoicing in the release from years of unrighteous\ngovernment. Just how the State of Louisiana had been badgered, and her\nevery idea of self-government insulted, can be appreciated only by those\nwho come face to face with the facts. While some of the best patriots of\nthe North went down with the right motives to mingle in the\nreconstruction of the State governments of the South, many of these\npilgrimists were the cast-off and thieving politicians of the North,\nwho, after being stoned out of Northern waters, crawled up on the beach\nat the South to sun themselves. The Southern States had enough dishonest\nmen of their own without any importation. The day of trouble passed.\nLouisiana and South Carolina for the most part are free. Governor\nNichols of the one, and Governor Wade Hampton of the other, had the\nconfidence of the great masses of the people.\n\nIt was my opinion then that the largest fortunes were yet to be made in\nthe South, because there was more room to make them there. During my two\nweeks in the South, at that time, mingling with all classes of people, I\nnever heard an unkind word against the North, and that only a little\nover ten years since the close of the war. Congressional politicians\nwere still enlarging upon the belligerency of the South, but they had\npersonal designs at President making. There was no more use for Federal\nmilitary in New Orleans than there was need of them in Brooklyn. I was\nthe guest in New Orleans of the Hon. E.J. Ellis, many years in Congress,\nand I had a taste of real Southern hospitality. It was everywhere. The\nspirit of fraternity was in the South long before it reached the North.\nUp to this time I had echoed Horace Greeley's advice, \"Go West.\" For\nyears afterwards I changed it. In my advice to young men I said to all,\n\"Go South.\"\n\nIn the spring of 1878, however, things in Brooklyn began to look more\npromising for young men and young women. I remember after closely\nexamining Mayor Howell's report and the Police Commissioner's report I\nwas much pleased. Mayor Howell was one of the most courteous and genial\nmen I ever knew, and Superintendent Campbell was a good police officer.\nThese two men, by their individual interest in Brooklyn reforms, had\ngained the confidence of our tax-payers and our philanthropists. The\npolice force was too small for a city of 5,000,000 people. The taxes\nwere not big enough to afford an adequate equipment. There was a\nconstant depreciation of our police and excise officials in the\nchurches. City officials should not be caricatured--they should be\nrespected, or dismissed. It was about this time a mounted police\ndepartment was started in Brooklyn, and though small it was needed. What\nthe miscreant community of Brooklyn most needed at this time was not\nsermons or lessons in the common schools, but a police club--and they\ngot it.\n\nThere was a political avarice in Brooklyn in the management of our\npublic taxes which handicapped the local government. For a long while I\nhad been thinking about some way of presenting this sin to my people,\nwhen one day a woman, Barbara Allen by name, dropping in fatal illness,\nwas picked up at the Fulton Ferry House, and died in the ambulance. On\nher arm was a basket of cold victuals she had lugged from house to\nhouse. In the rags of her clothing were found deposit slips in the\nsavings banks of Brooklyn--for $20,000. The case was unique at that\ntime, because in those days great wealth was unknown, even in New York,\nand the houses in Brooklyn were homes--not museums. Twenty thousand\ndollars was a fortune. It was a precedent that established miserliness\nas an actual sin, a dissipation just as deadly as that of the\nspendthrift. It was a tragic scene from the drama of life, and its\nsurprise was avarice. The whole country read about Barbara Allen, and\nwondered what new strange disease this was that could scourge a human\nsoul with a madness for accumulating money without spending it. The\npeople of the United States suffered from quite a different idea of\nmoney. They were just beginning to feel the great American fever for\nspending more of it than they could get. This was a serious phase of\nsocial conditions then, and I remember how keenly I felt the menace of\nit at the time. Those who couldn't get enough to spend became envious,\njealous, hateful of those who could and these envious ones were the\nAmerican masses.\n\nIn the spring of 1878, in May, there was a tiger sprang out of this\njungle of discontent, and, crouching, threatened to spring upon American\nSociety.\n\nIt was--Communism. Its theory was that what could not be obtained\nlawfully, under the pressure of circumstances, you could take anyhow.\nCommunism meant no individual rights in property. If wages were not\nadequate to the luxurious appetite, then the wage-earner claimed the\nright to knock his employer down and take what he wanted. \"Bread or\nblood\" was the motto. It all came from across the Atlantic, and it\nspread rapidly. In Brooklyn, New York, Chicago, St. Louis, it was\nevident that Communism was organising, that its executive desperadoes\nmet in rooms, formed lodges, invented grips and pass-words.\n\nIn the eighth ward of New York an organisation was unearthed at this\ntime, consisting of 800 men, all armed with muskets and revolvers. These\norganisations described themselves as working-men's parties, and so\ntried to ally themselves with the interests of trade unions.\n\nTwenty American newspapers advocated this shocking creed. Tens of\nthousands adopted this theory. I said then, in response to the opinion\nthat Communism was impossible in this country, that there were just as\nmany cut-throats along the East River and the Hudson as there were\nalong the Seine or the Thames. There was only one thing that prevented\nrevolution in our cities in this memorable spring of 1878, and that was\nthe police and the military guard.\n\nThrough dissatisfaction about wages, or from any cause, men have a right\nto stop work, and to stop in bands and bodies until their labour shall\nbe appreciated; but when by violence, as in the summer of 1877, they\ncompel others to stop, or hinder substitutes from taking the places,\nthen the act is Communistic, and ought to be riven of the lightnings of\npublic condemnation. What was the matter in Pittsburg that summer? What\nfired the long line of cars that made night hideous? What lifted the\nwild howl in Chicago? Why, coming toward that city, were we obliged to\ndismount from the cars and take carriages through the back streets? Why,\nwhen one night the Michigan Central train left Chicago, were there but\nthree passengers on board a train of eight cars? What forced three rail\ntrains from the tracks and shot down engineers with their hands on the\nvalves? Communism. For hundreds of miles along the track leading from\nthe great West I saw stretched out and coiled up the great reptile\nwhich, after crushing the free locomotive of passengers and trade, would\nhave twisted itself around our republican institutions, and left them in\nstrangulation and blood along the pathway of nations. The governors of\nStates and the President of the United States did well in planting the\nloaded cannon at the head of streets blocked up by desperadoes. I felt\nthe inspiration of giving warning, and I did.\n\nBut the summer came, August came, and after a lecture tour through the\nfar West I was amazed and delighted to find there a tremendous harvest\nin the grain fields. I had seen immense crops there about to start on\ntheir way to the Eastern sea-boundary of our continent. I saw then that\nour prosperity as a nation would depend upon our agriculture. It didn't\nmake any difference what the Greenback party, or the Republican and\nDemocratic parties, or the Communists were croaking about; the immense\nharvests of the West indicated that nothing was the matter. What we\nneeded in the fall of 1878 was some cheerful talk.\n\nDuring this summer two of the world's celebrities died: Charles Mathews,\nthe famous comedian, and the great American poet, William Cullen Bryant.\nCharles Mathews was an illustrious actor. He was born to make the world\nlaugh, but he had a sad life of struggle.\n\nWhile Charles Mathews was performing in London before immense audiences,\none day a worn-out and gloomy man came into a doctor's shop, saying,\n\"Doctor, what can you do for me?\" The doctor examined his case and said,\n\"My advice is that you go and see Charles Mathews.\" \"Alas! Alas!\" said\nthe man, \"I myself am Charles Mathews.\"\n\nIn the loss of William Cullen Bryant I felt it as a personal bereavement\nof a close friend. Nowhere have I seen the following incident of his\nlife recorded, an incident which I still remember as one of the great\nevents in my life.\n\nIn the days of my boyhood I attended a meeting at Tripler Hall, held as\na memorial of Fenimore Cooper, who at that time had just died.\nWashington Irving stepped out on the speaker's platform first,\ntrembling, and in evident misery. After stammering and blushing and\nbowing, he completely broke down in his effort to make a speech, and\nbriefly introduced the presiding officer of the meeting, Daniel\nWebster. Rising like a huge mountain from a plain this great orator\nintroduced another orator--the orator of the day--William Cullen Bryant.\nIn that memorable oration, lasting an hour and a half, the speaker told\nlovingly the story of the life and death of the author of \"Leather\nStocking\" and \"The Last of the Mohicans.\"\n\nGeorge W. Bethune followed him, thundering out in that marvellous flow\nof ideas, with an eloquence that made him the pulpit orator of his\ngeneration in the South. Bryant's hair was then just touched with grey.\nThe last time I saw him was in my house on Oxford Street, two years ago,\nin a company of literary people. I said: \"Mr. Bryant, will you read for\nus 'Thanatopsis'?\" He blushed like a girl, and put his hands over his\nface and said: \"I would rather read anything than my own production; but\nif it will give you pleasure I will do anything you say.\" Then at 82\nyears of age, and without spectacles, he stood up and with most pathetic\ntenderness read the famous poem of his boyhood days, and from a score of\nlips burst forth the exclamation, \"What a wonderful old man!\" What made\nall the land and all the world feel so badly when William Cullen Bryant\nwas laid down at Roslyn? Because he was a great poet who had died? No;\nthere have been greater poets. Because he was so able an editor? No;\nthere have been abler editors. Because he was so very old? No; some have\nattained more years. It was because a spotless and noble character\nirradiated all he wrote and said and did.\n\nThese great men of America, how much they were to me, in their example\nof doing and living!\n\nProbably there are many still living who remember what a disorderly\nplace Brooklyn once was. Gangs of loafers hung around our street\ncorners, insulting and threatening men and women. Carriages were held up\nin the streets, the occupants robbed, and the vehicles stolen.\nKidnapping was known. Behind all this outrage of civil rights was\npolitical outrage. The politicians were afraid to offend the criminals,\nbecause they might need their votes in future elections. They were\nimmune, because they were useful material in case of a new governor or\nPresident. It was a reign of terror that spread also in other large\ncities. The farmers of Ohio and Pennsylvania were threatened if they did\nnot stop buying labour-saving machinery. They were not the threats of\nthe working-man, but of the lazy, criminal loafers of the country. It is\nworth mentioning, because it was a convulsion of an American period, a\nnational growing pain, which I then saw and talked about. The nation was\nunder the cloud of political ambition and office-seeking that unsettled\nbusiness conditions. Every one was occupied in President-making,\nalthough we were two years from the Presidential election. There was\nplenty of money, but people held on to it.\n\nThe yellow fever scourge came down upon the South during the late summer\nof 1878, and softened the hearts of some. There was some money\ncontributed from the North, but not as much as there ought to have been.\nIn the Brooklyn Tabernacle we did the best we could; New York city had\nbeen ravaged by yellow fever in 1832, the year I was born, but the\nmemory of that horror was not keen enough to influence the collection\nplate. What with this suffering of our neighbours in the South, and the\ntroubles of political jealousies local and national, there were cares\nenough for our church to consider. Still, the summer of 1878 was almost\nthrough, and many predictions of disaster had failed. We had been\nthreatened with general riots. It was predicted that on June 27 all the\ncars and railroad stations would be burned, because of a general strike\norder. We were threatened with a fruit famine. It was said that the\nMaryland and New Jersey peach crop was a failure. I never saw or ate so\nmany peaches any summer before.\n\nThen there was the Patten investigation committee, determined to send\nMr. Tilden down to Washington to drive the President out of the White\nHouse. None of these things happened, yet it is interesting to recall\nthis phase of American nerves in 1878.\n\nThere was one event that aroused my disgust, however, much more than the\ncroakers had done--Ben Butler was nominated for Governor of\nMassachusetts. That was when politics touched bottom. There was no lower\ndepths of infamy for them to reach. Ben Butler was the chief demagogue\nof the land. The Republican party was to be congratulated that it got\nrid of him. His election was a cross put upon the State of Massachusetts\nfor something it had done we knew not of. Fortunately there were men\nlike Roscoe Conkling in politics to counterbalance other kinds.\n\nBacked up by unscrupulous politicians, the equally irresponsible\nrailroad promoter began his invasion of city streets with his noisy\nscheme. I opposed him, but the problem of transportation then was not as\nit is now. Just as the year 1879 had begun, a gigantic political\npromoting scheme for an elevated railroad in Brooklyn was attempted.\nFrom Boston came the promoters with a proposition to build the road,\nwithout paying a cent of indemnity to property holders. I suggested\nthat an appeal be made to Brooklynites to subscribe to a company for the\nagricultural improvements of Boston Common. It was a parallel absurdity.\nMayor Howell, of Brooklyn, courageously opposed an elevated road\nfranchise, unless property holders were paid according to the damage to\nthe property. This was one of many inspired grafts of political\nBrooklyn, years ago.\n\nA great event in the world was the announcement in November, 1878, that\nProfessor Thomas Edison had applied for a patent for the discovery of\nthe incandescent electric light. He harnessed the flame of a thunderbolt\nto fit in a candlestick. I hope he made millions of dollars out of it.\nIn direct contradiction to this progress in daily life there came, at\nthe same time, from the Philadelphia clergy a protest against printing\ntheir sermons in the secular press. It was an injustice to them, they\ndeclared, because the sermons were not always fully reported. I did not\nshare these opinions. If a minister's gospel is not fit for fifty\nthousand people, then it is not fit for the few hundred members of his\ncongregation. My own sermons were being published in the secular press\nthen, as they had been when I was in Philadelphia.\n\nAlmost at the close of the year 1878 the loss of the S.S. \"Pomerania,\"\nin collision in the English Channel, was a disaster of the sea that I\ndenounced as nothing short of murder. It was shown at the trial that\nthere was no fog at the time, that the two vessels saw each other for\nten minutes before the collision. If such gross negligence as this was\npossible, I advised those people who bought a ticket for Europe on the\nWhite Star, the Cunard, the Hamburg, or other steamship lines, to secure\nat the same time a ticket for Heaven. What a difference in the ocean\nferry-boat of to-day!\n\nScarcely had the submarine telegraph closed this chapter of sea horror\nthan it clicked the information that the beautiful Princess Alice had\ndied in Germany. Only a few days later, in America, we were in mood of\nmourning for Bayard Taylor, our Minister Plenipotentiary to Germany. In\nthe death of Princess Alice we felt chiefly a sympathy for Queen\nVictoria, who had not then, and never did, overcome her grief at the\nloss of Prince Albert. In the decease of Bayard Taylor we remembered\nwith pride that he was a self-made gentleman of a school for which there\nis no known system of education. Regarded as a dreamy, unpractical boy,\nnothing much was ever expected of him. When he was seventeen he set type\nin a printing office in Westchester. It was Bayard Taylor who exploded\nthe idea that only the rich could afford to go to Europe, when on less\nthan a thousand dollars he spent two years amid the palaces and temples,\ntelling of his adventures in a way that contributed classic literature\nto our book-shelves. He worked hard--wrote thirty-five books. There is\ngenius in hard work alone. I have often thought that women pursue more\nof it than men. They work night and day, year in and year out, from\nkitchen to parlour, from parlour to kitchen.\n\nThere was some strong legislative effort made in our country about this\ntime to exclude the Chinese. I opposed this legislation with all the\nvoice and ability I had, because I felt not merely the injustice of such\ncontradiction of all our national institutions, but I saw its political\nfolly. I saw that the nation that would be the most friendly to China,\nand could get on the inside track of her commerce, would be the first\nnation of the world. The legislature seemed particularly angry with the\nChinese immigrants in this country because they would not allow\nthemselves to be buried here. They were angry with the Chinese then\nbecause they would not intermarry. They were angry with the Chinese\nbecause they invested their money in China. They did not think they were\nhandsome enough for this country. We even wanted a monopoly of good\nlooks in those days.\n\nI was particularly friendly to the Chinese. My brother, John Van Nest\nTalmage, devoted his life to them. I believed, as my brother did, that\nthey were a great nation.\n\nWhen he went, my last brother went. Stunned was I until I staggered\nthrough the corridors of the hotel in London, England, when the news\ncame that John was dead. If I should say all that I felt I would declare\nthat since Paul the Apostle to the Gentiles a more faithful or\nconsecrated man has not lifted his voice in the dark places of\nheathenism. I said it while he was alive, and might as well say it now\nthat he is dead. He was the hero of our family. He did not go to China\nto spend his days because no one in America wanted to hear him preach.\nAt the time of his first going to China he had a call to succeed in\nBrooklyn, N.Y., the Rev. Dr. Broadhead, the Chrysostom of the American\npulpit, a call at a large salary; and there would have been nothing\nimpossible to my brother in the way of religious work or Christian\nachievement had he tarried in his native land. But nothing could detain\nhim from the work to which God called him long before he became a\nChristian.\n\nMy reason for writing that anomalous statement is that, when a small boy\nin Sabbath-school, he read a library book, \"The Life of Henry Martin.\"\nHe said to my mother, \"I am going to be a missionary.\" The remark at the\ntime made no special impression. Years after that passed on before his\nconversion; but when the grace of God appeared to him, and he had\nentered his studies for the Gospel ministry, he said one day, \"Mother,\ndo you remember that years ago I said, 'I am going to be a missionary'?\"\nShe replied, \"Yes, I remember it.\" \"Well,\" said he, \"I am going to keep\nmy promise.\" How well he kept it millions of souls on earth and in\nHeaven have long since heard. When the roll of martyrs is called before\nthe throne, the name of John Van Nest Talmage will be called. He worked\nhimself to death in the cause of the world's evangelisation. His heart,\nhis brain, his hand, his voice, his muscles, his nerves could do no\nmore. He sleeps in the cemetery of Somerville, N.J., so near his father\nand mother that he will face them when he arises in the resurrection of\nthe just, and, amid a crowd of his kindred now sleeping on the right of\nthem and on the left of them, will feel the thrill of the trumpet that\nwakes the dead.\n\nYou could get nothing from my brother at all. Ask him a question to\nevoke what he had done for God and the Church, and his lips were as\ntightly shut as though they had never been opened. Indeed, his reticence\nwas at times something remarkable. I took him to see President Grant at\nLong Branch, and though they had both been great warriors, the one\nfighting the battles of the Lord and the other the battles of his\ncountry, they had little to say, and there was, I thought, at the time,\nmore silence crowded together than I ever noticed in the same amount of\nspace before.\n\nBut the story of my brother's work has already been told in the Heavens\nby those who, through his instrumentality, have already reached the City\nof Raptures. However, his chief work is yet to come. We get our\nchronology so twisted that we come to believe that the white marble of\nthe tomb is the milestone at which the good man stops, when it is only a\nmilestone on a journey, the most of the miles of which are yet to be\ntravelled. The Chinese Dictionary which my brother prepared during more\nthan two decades of study; the religious literature he transferred from\nEnglish into Chinese; the hymns he wrote for others to sing, although he\nhimself could not sing at all (he and I monopolising the musical\nincapacity of a family in which all the rest could sing well); the\nmissionary stations he planted; the life he lived, will widen out and\ndeepen and intensify through all time and all eternity.\n\nNever in the character of a Chinaman was there the trait of commercial\nfraud that assailed our American cities in 1879. It got into our food\nfinally--the very bread we ate was proven to be an adulteration of\nimpure stuff. What an extravagance of imagination had crept into our\ndaily life! We pretended even to eat what we knew we were not eating.\nExcept for the reminder which old books written in byegone simpler days\ngave us, we should have insisted that the world should believe us if we\nsaid black was white. Still, among us there were some who were genuine,\nbut they seemed to be passing away. It was in this year that the oldest\nauthor in America died, Richard Henry Dana. He was born in 1788, when\nliterature in this country was just beginning. His death stirred the\ntenderest emotions. Authorship was a new thing in America when Mr. Dana\nbegan to write, and it required endurance and persistence. The\natmosphere was chilling to literature then, there was little applause\nfor poetic or literary skill. There were no encouragements when\nWashington Irving wrote as \"Knickerbocker,\" when Richard Henry Dana\nwrote \"The Buccaneer,\" \"The Idle Man,\" and \"The Dying Raven.\" There was\nsomething cracking in his wit, exalted in his culture. He was so gentle\nin his conversation, so pure in his life, it was hard to spare him. He\nseemed like a man who had never been forced into the battle of the\nworld, he was so unscarred and hallowed.\n\nIt was just about this time that our Tabernacle in Brooklyn became the\nstorm centre of a law-suit which threatened to undermine us. It was\nbased upon a theory, a technicality of law, which declared that the\nsubscriptions of married women were not legal subscriptions. Our\nattorneys were Mr. Freeman and Judge Tenney. Theirs was a battle for God\nand the Church. There were only two sides to the case. Those against the\nChurch and those with the Church. In the preceding eight years, whether\nagainst fire or against foe, the Tabernacle had risen to a higher plane\nof useful Christian work. I was not alarmed. During the two weeks of\npersecution, the days were to me days of the most complete peace I had\nfelt since I entered the Christian life. Again and again I remember\nremarking in my home, to my family, what a supernatural peace was upon\nme. My faith was in God, who managed my life and the affairs of the\nChurch. My work was still before me, there was too much to be done in\nthe Tabernacle yet. The disapproval of our methods before the Brooklyn\nPresbytery was formulated in a series of charges against the pastor. I\nwas told my enthusiasm was sinful, that it was unorthodox for me to be\nso. My utterances were described as inaccurate. My editorial work was\noffensively criticised. The Presbytery listened patiently, and after a\ncareful consideration dismissed the charges. Once more the unjust\noppression of enemies had seemed to extend the strength and scope of the\nGospel. A few days later my congregation presented me with a token of\nconfidence in their pastor. I was so happy at the time that I was ready\nto shake hands even with the reporters who had abused me. How kind they\nwere, how well they understood me, how magnificently they took care of\nme, my people of the Brooklyn Tabernacle!\n\n\n\n\nTHE SIXTH MILESTONE\n\n1879-1881\n\n\nIn the spring of 1879 I made a Gospel tour of England, Ireland, and\nScotland. On a previous visit I had given a series of private lectures,\nunder the management of Major Pond, and I had been more or less\ncriticised for the amount of money charged the people to hear me. As I\nhad nothing whatever to do with the prices of tickets to my lectures,\nwhich went to the managers who arranged the tour, this was something\nbeyond my control. My personal arrangement with Major Pond was for a\ncertain fixed sum. They said in Europe that I charged too much to be\nheard, that as a preacher of the Gospel I should have been more\nmoderate. If the management had been my own I should not have been so\ngreedy.\n\nBecause of this recollection and the regret it gave me, I decided to\nmake another tour at my own expense, and preach without price in all the\nplaces I had previously visited as a lecturer. It was the most\nexhausting, exciting, remarkable demonstration of religious enthusiasm I\nhave ever witnessed. It was an evangelistic yearning that could not be\nrepeated in another life-time.\n\nThe entire summer was a round of Gospel meetings, overflow meetings,\nopen-air meetings, a succession of scenes of blessing. From the time I\narrived in Liverpool, where that same night I addressed two large\nassemblages, till I got through after a monster gathering at Edinburgh,\nI missed but three Gospel appointments, and those because I was too\ntired to stand up. I preached ninety-eight times in ninety-three days.\n\nWith nothing but Gospel themes I confronted multitudes. A collection was\nalways taken up at these gatherings for the benefit of local charities,\nfeeble churches, orphan asylums and other institutions. My services were\ngratuitous.\n\nIt was the most wonderful summer of evangelical work I was ever\nprivileged to enjoy. There must have been much praying for me and my\nwelfare, or no mortal could have got through with the work. In every\ncity I went to, messages were passed into my ears for families in\nAmerica. The collection taken for the benefit of the Y.M.C.A. at Leeds\nwas about $6,000. During this visit I preached in Scenery Chapel,\nLondon, in the pulpit where such consecrated souls as Rowland Hill and\nNewman Hall and James Sherman had preached. I visited the \"Red Horse\nHotel,\" of Stratford-on-Avon, where the chair and table used by\nWashington Irving were as interesting to me as anything in Shakespeare's\ncottage. The church where the poet is buried is over seven hundred years\nold.\n\nThe most interesting place around London to me is in Chelsea, where, on\na narrow street, I entered the house of Thomas Carlyle. This great\nauthor was away from London at the time. Entering a narrow hall, on the\nleft is the literary workshop, where some of the strongest thunderbolts\nof the world's literature have been forged. In the room, which has two\nfront windows shaded from the prying street by two little red calico\ncurtains, is a lounge that looks as though it had been made by an author\nunaccustomed to saw or hammer. On the wall were a few woodcuts in plain\nframes or pinned on the wall. Here was a photograph of Carlyle, taken\none day, as a member of his family told me, when he had a violent\ntoothache and could attend to nothing else, and yet posterity regards it\nas a favourite picture. There are only three copies of this photograph\nin existence. One was given to Carlyle, the other was kept by the\nphotographer, and the third belongs to me. In long rough shelves was the\nlibrary of the renowned thinker. The books were well worn with reading.\nMany of them were books I never heard of. American literature was almost\nignored; they were chiefly books written by Germans. There was an\nabsence of theological books, excepting those of Thomas Chalmers, whose\ngenius he worshipped. The carpets were old and worn and faded. He wished\nthem to be so, as a perpetual protest against the world's sham. It did\nnot appeal to me as a place of inspiration for a writer.\n\nI returned to America impressed with the over-crowding of the British\nIsles, and the unsettled regions of our own country.\n\n\"Tell the United States we want to send her five million population this\nyear, and five million population next year,\" said a prominent\nEnglishman to me. I urged a mutual arrangement between the two\ngovernments, to people the West with these populations. Great Britain\nwas the workshop of the world; we needed workers. The trouble in the\nUnited States at this time was that when there was one garment needed\nthere were three people anxious to manufacture it, and five people\nanxious to sell it. We needed to evoke more harvests and fruits to feed\nthe populations of the world, and more flax and wool for the clothing.\nThe cities in England are so close together that there is a cloud from\nsmokestacks the length and width of the island. The Canon of York\nMinster showed me how the stone of that great cathedral was crumbling\nunder the chemical corrosion of the atmosphere, wafted from neighbouring\nfactories.\n\nAmerica was not yet discovered then. Those who had gone West twenty\nyears back, in 1859, were, in 1879, the leading men of Chicago, and\nOmaha, and Denver, and Minneapolis, and Dubuque. When I left, England\nwas still suffering from the effects of the long-continued panic in\nAmerica.\n\nBrooklyn had improved; still, we were threatened with a tremendous\ninflux of people. The new bridge at Fulton Ferry across the East River\nwould soon be opened. It looked as though there was to be another bridge\nat South Ferry, and another at Peck Slip Ferry. Montauk Point was to be\npurchased by some enterprising Americans, and a railroad was to connect\nit with Brooklyn. Steamers from Europe were to find wharfage in some of\nthe bays of Long Island, and the passage across the Atlantic reduced to\nsix days! Passengers six days out of Queenstown would pass into\nBrooklyn. This was the Brooklyn to be, as was seen in its prospectus,\nits evolution in 1879-80.\n\nOur local elections had resulted in a better local government. With the\nexception of an unsuccessful attempt by the Board of Canvassers to\ndeprive Frederick A. Schroeder of his seat in the Senate, because some\nof the voters had left out the middle initial in his name in their\nballots, all was better with us politically than it had been. To the\ncredit of our local press, the two political rivals, the _Brooklyn\nEagle_ and the _Times_, united in their efforts to support Senator\nSchroeder's claim.\n\nThere was one man in Brooklyn at this time who was much abused and\ncaricatured for doing a great work--Professor Bergh, the deliverer of\ndumb animals. He was constantly in the courts in defence of a lame horse\nor a stray cat. I supported and encouraged him. I always hoped that he\nwould induce legislation that would give the poor car-horses of Brooklyn\nmore oats, and fewer passengers to haul in one car. He was one of the\nfirst men to fight earnestly against vivisection--which was a great\nwork.\n\nJust after we had settled down to a more comfortable and hopeful state\nof mind Mr. Thomas Kinsella, one of our prominent citizens, startled us\nby showing us, in a published interview, how little we had any right to\nfeel that way. He told us that our Brooklyn debt was $17,000,000, with a\ntax area of only three million and a half acres. It was disturbing. But\nwe had prospects, energies. We had to depend in this predicament upon\nthe quickened prosperity of our property holders, upon future examiners\nto be scrupulous at the ballot box, on the increase of our population,\nwhich would help to carry our burdens, and on the revenue from our great\nbridge. These were local affairs of interest to us all, but in December,\n1879, we had a more serious problem of our own to consider. This\nconcerned the future of the new Tabernacle.\n\nIn consequence of perpetual and long-continued outrages committed by\nneighbouring clergymen against the peace of our church, the Board of\nTrustees of the Tabernacle addressed a letter to the congregation\nsuggesting our withdrawal from the denomination. I regretted this,\nbecause I felt that the time would soon come when all denominations\nshould be helpful to each other. There would be enough people in\nBrooklyn, I was sure, when all the churches could be crowded. I\npositively refused to believe the things that my fellow ministers said\nabout me, or to notice them. I was perfectly satisfied with the\nChristian outlook of our church. I urged the same spirit of calm upon my\nchurch neighbours, by example and precept. It was a long while before\nthey realised the value of this advice. In the spring of 1879 my friend\nDr. Crosby, pastor of the Second Presbyterian Church at the corner of\nClinton and Fulton Streets, was undergoing an ecclesiastical trial, and\nan enterprising newsboy invaded the steps of the church, as the most\ninterested market for the sale of the last news about the trial. He was\nignominiously pushed off the church steps by the church officers. I was\nindignant about it. (I saw it from a distance, as I was coming down the\nstreet.) I thought it was a row between Brooklyn ministers, however, and\nturned the corner to avoid such a shocking sight. My suspicions were not\ngroundless, because there was even then anything but brotherly love\nbetween some of the churches there.\n\nA synodical trial by the Synod of Long Island was finally held at\nJamaica, L.I., to ascertain if there was not some way of inducing church\nharmony in Brooklyn. After several days at Jamaica, in which the\nministers of Long Island took us ministers of Brooklyn across their\nknees and applied the ecclesiastical slipper, we were sent home with a\nbenediction. A lot of us went down there looking hungry, and they sent\nus back all fed up. Even some of the church elders were hungry and came\nback to Brooklyn strengthened.\n\nIt looked for awhile after this as though all clerical antagonisms in\nBrooklyn would expire. I even foresaw a time coming when Brothers\nSpeare, Van Dyke, Crosby and Talmage would sing Moody and Sankey hymns\ntogether out of the same hymn-book.\n\nThe year 1880 began with an outbreak in Maine, a sort of miniature\nrevolution, caused by a political appointment of my friend Governor\nGarcelon contrary to the opinions of the people of his State. Garcelon I\nknew personally, and regarded him as a man of honour and pure political\nmotives, whether he did his duty or not; whatever he did he believed was\nthe right and conscientious thing to do. The election had gone against\nthe Democrats. In a neat address Mr. Lincoln Robinson, Democrat, handed\nover the keys of New York State to Mr. Carroll, the Republican Governor.\nAntagonists though they had been at the ballot-box, the surrender was\nconducted with a dignity that I trust will always surround the\ngubernatorial chair of the State of New York, once graced by such men as\nDeWitt Clinton, Silas Wright, William H. Seward, and John A. Dix.\n\nIn January, 1880, Frank Leslie, the pioneer of pictorial journalism in\nAmerica, died. I met him only once, when he took me through his immense\nestablishment. I was impressed with him then, as a man of much elegance\nof manner and suavity of feeling. He was very much beloved by his\nemployees, which, in those days of discord between capital and labour,\nwas a distinction.\n\nThe arrival of Mr. Parnell in New York was an event of the period. We\nknew he was an orator, and we were anxious to hear him. There was some\nuncertainty as to whether he came to America to obtain bayonets to stick\nthe English with, or whether he came for bread for the starving in\nIreland. We did not understand the political problem between England and\nIreland so well--but we did understand the meaning of a loaf of bread.\nMr. Parnell was welcome.\n\nThe failure of the harvest crops in Europe made the question of the hour\nat the beginning of 1880--bread. The grain speculator appeared, with his\ngreedy web spun around the world. Europe was short 200,000,000 bushels\nof wheat. The American speculator cornered the market, stacked the\nwarehouses, and demanded fifty cents a bushel. Europe was compelled to\nretaliate, by purchasing grain in Russia, British India, New Zealand,\nSouth America, and Australia. In one week the markets of the American\nNorth-west purchased over 15,000,000 bushels, of which only 4,000,000\nbushels were exported. Meanwhile the cry of the world's hunger grew\nlouder, and the bolts on the grain cribs were locked tighter than ever.\nAmerican finances could have been straightened out on this one product,\nexcept for the American speculator, who demanded more for it than it was\nworth. The United States had a surplus of 18,000,000 bushels of grain\nfor export, in 1880. But the kings of the wheat market said to Europe,\n\"Bow down before us, and starve.\"\n\nSuddenly we in America were surprised to learn that flour in London was\ntwo dollars cheaper a barrel than it was in New York. Our grain blockade\nof the world was reacting upon us. Lying idle at the wharves of New York\nand Brooklyn were 102 ships, 439 barques, 87 brigs, 178 schooners, and\n47 steamers. Six or seven hundred of these vessels were waiting for\ncargoes. The gates of our harbour were closed in the grip of the grain\ngambler. The thrift of the speculator was the menace of our national\nprosperity. The octopus of speculative ugliness was growing to its full\nsize, and threatened to smother us utterly. There was a \"corner\" on\neverything.\n\nWe were busy trying to pick out our next President. There was great\nagitation over the Republican candidates: Grant, Blaine, Cameron,\nConkling, Sherman. Greatness in a man is sometimes a hindrance to the\nPresidency. Such was the case with Daniel Webster, Henry Clay, Thomas H.\nBenton, and William C. Preston. We were only on the edge of the\nwhirlpool of a presidential election. In England the election storm was\njust beginning. The first thunderbolt was the sudden dissolution of\nParliament by Lord Beaconsfield. The two mightiest men in England then\nwere antagonists, Disraeli and Gladstone.\n\nWhat a magnificent body of men are those Members of Parliament. They\nmeet and go about without the ostentation of some of our men in\nCongress. Men of great position in England are born to it; they are not\nso afraid of losing it as our celebrated Republicans and Democrats. Even\nthe man who comes up into political power from the masses in England is\nmore likely to hold his position than if he had triumphed in American\npolitics.\n\nIn the spring and summer of 1880 I took a long and exhaustive trip\nacross our continent, and completely lost the common dread of emigration\nthat was then being talked about. There was room enough for fifty new\nnations between Omaha and Cheyenne, room for more still between Cheyenne\nand Ogden, from Salt Lake City to Sacramento.\n\nAn unpretentious youth, Carey by name, whom I had known in Philadelphia,\nwent West in '67. I found him in Cheyenne a leading citizen. He had\nbeen District Attorney, then judge of one of the courts, owned a city\nblock, a cattle ranch, and was worth about $500,000. There wasn't room\nenough for him in Philadelphia. Senator Hill of Colorado told me, while\nin Denver, about a man who came out there from the East to be a miner.\nHe began digging under a tree because it was shady. People passed by and\nlaughed at him. He kept on digging. After a while he sent a waggon load\nof the dust to be assayed, and there was $9,000 worth of metal in it. He\nretired with a fortune.\n\nA man with $3,000 and good health could have gone West in 1880, invested\nit in cattle, and made a fortune. San Francisco was only forty-five\nyears old then, Denver thirty-five, Leadville sixteen, Kansas City\nthirty-five. They looked a hundred at least. Leadville was then a place\nof palatial hotels, elegant churches, boulevards and streets. The West\nwas just aching to show how fast it could build cities. Leadville was\nthe most lied about. It was reported that I explored Leadville till long\nafter midnight, looking at its wickedness. I didn't. All the exploring I\ndid in Leadville was in about six minutes, from the wide open doors of\nthe gambling houses on two of the main streets; but the next day it was\ntelegraphed all over the United States. There were more telephones in\nLeadville in 1880 than in any other city in the United States, to its\npopulation. Some of the best people of Brooklyn and New York lived\nthere. The newspaper correspondents lost money in the gambling houses\nthere, and so they didn't like Leadville, and told the world it was a\nbad place, which was a misrepresentation. It is a well known law of\nhuman nature that a man usually hates a place where he did not behave\nwell. I found perfect order there, to my surprise. There was a vigilance\ncommittee in Leadville composed of bankers and merchants. It was their\nbusiness to give a too cumbrous law a boost. The week before I got to\nLeadville this committee hanged two men. The next day eighty scoundrels\ntook the hint and left Leadville. A great institution was the vigilance\ncommittee of those early Western days. They saved San Francisco, and\nCheyenne, and Leadville. I wish they had been in Brooklyn when I was\nthere. The West was not slow to assimilate the elegancies of life\neither. There were beautiful picture galleries in Omaha, and Denver, and\nSacramento, and San Francisco. There was more elaboration and\nadvancement of dress in the West than there was in the East in 1880. The\ncravats of the young men in Cheyenne were quite as surprising, and the\nyoung ladies of Cheyenne went down the street with the elbow wabble,\nthen fashionable in New York. San Francisco was Chicago intensified, and\nyet then it was a mere boy of a city, living in a garden of Eden, called\nCalifornia. On my return came Mr. Garfield's election. It was quietly\nand peaceably effected, but there followed that exposure of political\noutrages concerning his election, the Morey forgeries. I hoped then that\nthis villainy would split the Republican and Democratic parties into new\nfields, that it would spilt the North and the South into a different\nsectional feeling. I hoped that there would be a complete upheaval, a\nrenewed and cleaner political system as a consequence. But the reform\nmovement is always slower than any other.\n\nI remember the harsh things that were said in our denomination of\nLucretia Mott, the quakeress, the reformer, the world-renowned woman\npreacher of the day. She was well nigh as old as the nation,\neighty-eight years old, when she died. Her voice has never died in the\nplain meeting-houses of this country and England. I don't know that she\nwas always right, but she always meant to be right. In Philadelphia,\nwhere she preached, I lived among people for years who could not mention\nher name without tears of gratitude for what she had done for them.\nThere was great opposition to her because she was the first woman\npreacher, but all who heard her speak knew she had a divine right of\nutterance.\n\nIn November, 1880, Disraeli's great novel, \"Endymion\" was published by\nan American firm, Appleton & Co., a London publisher paying the author\nthe largest cash price ever paid for a manuscript up to that\ntime--$50,000. Noah Webster made that much in royalties on his spelling\nbook, but less on one of the greatest works given to the human race, his\ndictionary. There was a great literary impulse in American life,\ninspired by such American publishing houses as Appleton's, the Harper\nBros., the Dodds, the Randolphs, and the Scribners. It was the brightest\nmoment in American literature; far brighter than the day Victor Hugo, in\nyouth, long anxious to enter the French Academy, applied to Callard for\nhis vote. He pretended never to have heard of him. \"Will you accept a\ncopy of my books?\" asked Victor Hugo. \"No thank you,\" replied the other;\n\"I never read new books.\" Riley offered to sell his \"Universal\nPhilosophy\" for $500. The offer was refused. Great and wise authors have\noften been without food and shelter. Sometimes governments helped them,\nas when President Pierce appointed Nathaniel Hawthorne to office, and\nLocke was made Commissioner of Appeals, and Steele State Commissioner of\nStamps by the British Government. Oliver Goldsmith said: \"I have been\nyears struggling with a wretched being, with all that contempt which\nindigence brings with it, with all those strong passions which make\ncontempt insupportable.\" Mr. Payne, the author of \"Home, Sweet Home,\"\nhad no home, and was inspired to the writing of his immortal song by a\nwalk through the streets one slushy night, and hearing music and\nlaughter inside a comfortable dwelling. The world-renowned Sheridan\nsaid: \"Mrs. Sheridan and I were often obliged to keep writing for our\ndaily shoulder of mutton; otherwise we should have had no dinner.\"\nMitford, while he was writing his most celebrated book, lived in the\nfields, making his bed of grass and nettles, while two-pennyworth of\nbread and cheese with an onion was his daily food. I know of no more\nrefreshing reading than the books of William Hazlitt. I take down from\nmy shelf one of his many volumes, and I know not when to stop reading.\nSo fresh and yet so old! But through all the volumes there comes a\nmelancholy, accounted for by the fact that he had an awful struggle for\nbread. On his dying couch he had a friend write for him the following\nletter to Francis Jeffrey:--\n\n    \"Dear Sir,--I am at the last gasp. Please send me a hundred\n    pounds.--Yours truly,\n\n    \"WILLIAM HAZLITT.\"\n\nThe money arrived the day after his death. Poor fellow! I wish he had\nduring his lifetime some of the tens of thousands of dollars that have\nsince been paid in purchase of his books. He said on one occasion to a\nfriend: \"I have carried a volcano in my bosom up and down Paternoster\nRow for a good two hours and a half. Can you lend me a shilling? I have\nbeen without food these two days.\" My readers, to-day the struggle of a\ngood many literary people goes on. To be editor of a newspaper as I have\nbeen, and see the number of unavailable manuscripts that come in, crying\nout for five dollars, or anything to appease hunger and pay rent and get\nfuel! Oh, it is heartbreaking! After you have given all the money you\ncan spare you will come out of your editorial rooms crying.\n\nDisraeli was seventy-five when \"Endymion\" was published. Disraeli's\n\"Endymion\" came at a time when books in America were greater than they\never were before or have been since. A flood of magazines came\nafterwards, and swamped them. Before this time new books were rarely\nmade. Rich men began to endow them. It was a glorious way of spending\nmoney. Men sometimes give their money away because they have to give it\nup anyhow. Such men rarely give it to book-building.\n\nIn January, 1881, Mr. George L. Seavey, a prominent Brooklyn man at that\ntime, gave $50,000 to the library of the Historical Society of New York.\nAttending a reception one night in Brooklyn, I was shown his check, made\nout for that purpose. It was a great gift, one of the first given for\nthe intellectual food of future bookworms.\n\nMost of the rich men of this time were devoting their means to making\nSenators. The legislatures were manufacturing a new brand, and turning\nthem out made to order. Many of us were surprised at how little timber,\nand what poor quality, was needed to make a Senator in 1881. The nation\nused to make them out of stout, tall oaks. Many of those new ones were\nmade of willow, and others out of crooked sticks. In most cases the\nstrong men defeated each other, and weak substitutes were put in. The\nforthcoming Congress was to be one of commonplace men. The strong men\nhad to stay at home, and the accidents took their places in the\ngovernment. Still there were leaders, North and South.\n\nMy old friend Senator Brown of Georgia was one of the leaders of the\nSouth. He spoke vehemently in Congress in the cause of education. Only a\nfew months before he had given, out of his private purse, forty thousand\ndollars to a Baptist college. He was a man who talked and urged a hearty\nunion of feeling between the North and the South. He always hoped to\nabolish sectional feeling by one grand movement for the financial,\neducational, and moral welfare of the Nation. It was my urgent wish that\nPresident Garfield should invite Senator Brown to a place in his\nCabinet, although the Senator would probably have refused the honour,\nfor there was no better place to serve the American people than in the\nAmerican Senate.\n\nDuring the first week in February, 1881, the world hovered over the\ndeath-bed of Thomas Carlyle. He was the great enemy of all sorts of\ncant, philosophical or religious. He was for half a century the great\nliterary iconoclast. Daily bulletins of the sick-bed were published\nworld-wide. There was no easy chair in his study, no soft divans. It was\njust a place to work, and to stay at work. I once saw a private letter,\nwritten by Carlyle to Thomas Chalmers. The first part of it was devoted\nto a eulogy of Chalmers, the latter part descriptive of his own\nreligious doubts. He never wrote anything finer. It was beautiful,\ngrand, glorious, melancholy.\n\nThomas Carlyle started with the idea that the intellect was all, the\nbody nothing but an adjunct, an appendage. He would spur the intellect\nto costly energies, and send the body supperless to bed. After years of\ndoubts and fears I learned that towards the end he returned to the\nsimplicities of the Gospel.\n\nWhile this great thinker of the whole of life was sinking into his last\nearthly sleep, the men in the parliament of his nation were squabbling\nabout future ambitions. Thirty-five Irish members were forcibly ejected.\nNeither Beaconsfield nor Gladstone could solve the Irish question. Nor\ndo I believe it will ever be solved to the satisfaction of Ireland. But\na greater calamity than those came upon us; in the summer of this year\nPresident Garfield was assassinated in Washington.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEVENTH MILESTONE\n\n1881-1884\n\n\nOn July 2, 1881, an attempt was made to assassinate President Garfield,\nat the Pennsylvania Station, Washington, where he was about to board a\ntrain. I heard the news first on the railroad train at Williamstown,\nMass., where the President was expected in three or four days.\n\n\"Absurd, impossible,\" I said. Why should anyone want to kill him? He had\nnothing but that which he had earned with his own brain and hand. He had\nfought his own way up from country home to college hall, and from\ncollege hall to the House of Representatives, and from House of\nRepresentatives to the Senate Chamber, and from the Senate Chamber to\nthe Presidential chair. Why should anyone want to kill him? He was not a\ndespot who had been treading on the rights of the people. There was\nnothing of the Nero or the Robespierre in him. He had wronged no man. He\nwas free and happy himself, and wanted all the world free and happy. Why\nshould anyone want to kill him? He had a family to shepherd and educate,\na noble wife and a group of little children leaning on his arm and\nholding his hand, and who needed him for many years to come.\n\nOnly a few days before, I had paid him a visit. He was a bitter\nantagonist of Mormonism, and I was in deep sympathy with his Christian\nendeavours in this respect. I never saw a more anxious or perturbed\ncountenance than James A. Garfield's, the last time I met him. It seemed\na great relief to him to turn to talk to my child, who was with me. He\nhad suffered enough abuse in his political campaign to suffice for one\nlifetime. He was then facing three or four years of insult and contumely\ngreater than any that had been heaped upon his predecessors. He had\nproposed greater reforms, and by so much he was threatened to endure\nworse outrages. His term of office was just six months, but he\naccomplished what forty years of his predecessors had failed to do--the\ncomplete and eternal pacification of the North and the South. There were\nmore public meetings of sympathy for him, at this time, in the South\nthan there were in the North. His death-bed in eight weeks did more for\nthe sisterhood of States than if he had lived eight years--two terms of\nthe Presidency. His cabinet followed the reform spirit of his\nleadership. Postmaster General James made his department illustrious by\nspreading consternation among the scoundrels of the Star Route, saving\nthe country millions of dollars. Secretary Windom wrought what the\nbankers and merchants called a financial miracle. Robert Lincoln, the\nson of another martyred President, was Secretary of War.\n\nGuiteau was no more crazy than thousands of other place-hunters. He had\nbeen refused an office, and he was full of unmingled and burning\nrevenge. There was nothing else the matter with him. It was just this:\n\"You haven't given me what I want; now I'll kill you.\" For months after\neach presidential inauguration the hotels of Washington are roosts for\nthese buzzards. They are the crawling vermin of this nation. Guiteau\nwas no rarity. There were hundreds of Guiteaus in Washington after the\ninauguration, except that they had not the courage to shoot. I saw them\nsome two months or six weeks after. They were mad enough to do it. I saw\nit in their eyes.\n\nThey killed two other Presidents, William Henry Harrison and Zachary\nTaylor. I know the physicians called the disease congestion of the lungs\nor liver, but the plain truth was that they were worried to death; they\nwere trampled out of life by place-hunters. Three Presidents sacrificed\nto this one demon are enough. I urged Congress at the next session to\nstart a work of presidential emancipation. Four Presidents have\nrecommended civil service reform, and it has amounted to little or\nnothing. But this assassination I hoped would compel speedy and decisive\naction.\n\nJames A. Garfield was prepared for eternity. He often preached the\nGospel. \"I heard him preach, he preached for me in my pulpit,\" a\nminister told me. He preached once in Wall Street to an excited throng,\nafter Lincoln was shot. He preached to the wounded soldiers at\nChickamauga. He preached in the United States Senate, in speeches of\ngreat nobility. When a college boy, camped on the mountains, he read the\nScriptures aloud to his companions. After he was shot, he declared that\nhe trusted all in the Lord's hand--was ready to live or die.\n\n\"If the President die, what of his successor?\" was the great question of\nthe hour. I did not know Mr. Arthur at that time, but I prophesied that\nMr. Garfield's policies would be carried out by his successor.\n\nI consider President Garfield was a man with the most brilliant mind\nwho ever occupied the White House. He had strong health, a splendid\nphysique, a fine intellect. If Guiteau's bullet had killed the President\ninstantly, there would have been a revolution in this country.\n\nHe lingered amid the prayers of the nation, surrounded by seven of the\ngreatest surgeons and physicians of the hour. Then he passed on. His son\nwas preparing a scrap-book of all the kind things that had been said\nabout his father, to show him when he recovered. That was a tender\nforethought of one who knew how unjustly he had suffered the slanders of\nhis enemies. There was much talk about presidential inability, and in\nthe midst of this public bickering Chester A. Arthur became president.\nHe took office, amid severe criticism. I urged the appointment of\nFrederick T. Frelinghuysen to the President's Cabinet, feeling that. Mr.\nArthur would have in this distinguished son of New Jersey, a devout,\nevangelical, Christian adviser. In October I paid a visit, to Mr.\nGarfield's home in Mentor, Ohio. On the hat-rack in the hall was his\nhat, where he had left it, when the previous March he left for his\ninauguration in Washington. I left that bereaved household with a\nfeeling that a full explanation of this event must be adjourned to the\nnext state of my existence.\n\nThe new President was gradually becoming, on all sides, the bright hope\nof our national future. In after years I learned to know him and admire\nhim.\n\nIn the period of transition that followed the President's assassination\nwe lost other good men.\n\nWe lost Senator Burnside of Rhode Island, at one time commander of the\nArmy of the Potomac, and three times Governor of his State. I met him at\na reception given in the home of my friend Judge Hilton, in Woodlawn,\nat Saratoga Springs. He had an imperial presence, coupled with the\nutterance of a child. The Senator stood for purity in politics. No one\never bought him, or tried to buy him. He held no stock in the Credit\nMobilier. He shook hands with none of the schemes that appealed to\nCongress to fleece the people. He died towards the close of 1881.\n\nA man of greater celebrity, of an entirely different quality, who had\npassed on, was about this time to be honoured with an effigy in\nWestminster Abbey--Dean Stanley. I still remember keenly the afternoon I\nmet him in the Deanery adjoining the abbey. There was not much of the\nphysical in his appearance. His mind and soul seemed to have more than a\nfair share of his physical territory. He had only just enough body to\ndetain the soul awhile on earth.\n\nAnd then we lost Samuel B. Stewart. The most of Brooklyn knew him--the\nbest part of Brooklyn knew him. I knew him long before I ever came to\nBrooklyn. He taught me to read in the village school. His parents and\nmine were buried in the same place. A few weeks later, the Rev. Dr.\nBellows of New York went. I do not believe that the great work done by\nthis good man was ever written. It was during that long agony when the\nwar hospitals were crowded with the sick, the wounded, and the dying. He\nenlisted his voice and his pen and his fortune to alleviate their\nsuffering. I was on the field as a chaplain for a very little while, and\na little while looking after the sick in Philadelphia, and I noticed\nthat the Sanitary Commission, of which Dr. Bellows was the presiding\nspirit, was constantly busy with ambulances, cordials, nurses,\nnecessaries and supplies. Many a dying soldier was helped by the mercy\nof this good man's energies, and many a farewell message was forwarded\nhome. The civilians who served the humanitarian causes of the war, like\nDr. Bellows, have not received the recognition they should. Only the\nmilitary men have been honoured with public office.\n\nThe chief menace of the first year of President Arthur's administration\nwas the danger of a policy to interfere in foreign affairs, and the\ndanger of extravagance in Washington, due to innumerable appropriation\nbills. There was a war between Chili and Peru, and the United States\nGovernment offered to mediate for Chili. It was a pitiable interference\nwith private rights, and I regretted this indication of an unnecessary\nforeign policy in this country. In addition to this, there were enough\nappropriation bills in Washington to swamp the nation financially. I had\nstood for so many years in places where I could see clearly the ungodly\naffairs of political life in my own country, that the progress of\npolitics became to me a hopeless thing.\n\nThe political nominations of 1882 involved no great principles. In New\nYork State this was significant, because it brought before the nation\nMr. Grover Cleveland as a candidate for Governor against Mr. Folger. The\ngeneral opinion of these two men in the unbiassed public mind was\nexcellent. They were men of talent and integrity. They were not merely\nactors in the political play. I have buried professional politicians,\nand the most of them made a very bad funeral for a Christian minister to\nspeak at. I always wanted, at such a time, an Episcopal prayer book,\nwhich is made for all eases, and may not be taken either as invidious or\ntoo assuring.\n\nThere was another contest, non-political, that interested the nation in\n1882. It was the Sullivan-Ryan prize-fight. I had no great objection to\nfind with it, as did so many other ministers. It suggested a far better\nsymbol of arbitration between two differing opinions than war. If Mr.\nDisraeli had gone out and met a distinguished Zulu on the field of\nEnglish battle, and fought their national troubles out, as Sullivan and\nRyan did, what a saving of life and money! How many lives could have\nbeen saved if Napoleon and Wellington, or Moltke and McMahon had\nemulated the spirit of the Sullivan-Ryan prize fight! I saw no\nreasonable cause why the law should interfere between two men who\ndesired to pound one another in public; I stood alone almost among my\nbrethren in this conclusion.\n\nThe persecution of the Jews in Russia, which came to us at this time\nwith all its details of cruelty and horror, was the beginning of an\nimportant chapter in American history. Dr. Adler, in London, had\nappealed for a million pounds to transport the Jews who were driven out\nof Russia to the United States. It seemed more important that\ncivilisation should unite in an effort to secure protection for them in\ntheir own homes, than compel them to obey the will of Russia. This was\nno Christian remedy. We might as well abuse the Jews in America, and\nthen take up a collection to send them to England or Australia. The Jews\nwere entitled to their own rights of property and personal liberty and\nreligion, whether they lived in New York, or Brooklyn, or London, or\nParis, or Warsaw, or Moscow, or St. Petersburg. And yet we were\nconstantly hearing of the friendly feeling between Russia and the United\nStates.\n\nIn after years I was privileged personally to address the Czar and his\nfamily, in a private audience, and questions of the Russian problem were\ndiscussed; but the Jews flocked to America, and we welcomed them, and\nthey learned to be Americans very rapidly. Their immigration to this\ncountry was a matter of religious conscience, in which Russia had no\ninterest.\n\nA man's religious convictions are most important. I remember in October,\n1882, what criticism and abuse there was of my friend Henry Ward\nBeecher, when he decided to resign from the religious associations of\nwhich he was a member. I was asked by members of the press to give my\nopinion, but I was out when they called. Mr. Beecher was right. He was a\nman of courage and of heart. I shall never forget the encouragement and\ngoodwill he extended to me, when I first came to Brooklyn in 1869 and\ntook charge of a broken-down church. Mr. Beecher did just as I would\nhave done under the same circumstances. I could not nor would stay in\nthe denomination to which I belonged any longer than it would take me to\nwrite my resignation, if I disbelieved its doctrines. Mr. Beecher's\ntheology was very different from mine, but he did not differ from me in\nthe Christian life, any more than I differed from him. He never\ninterfered with me, nor I with him. Every little while some of the\nministers of America were attacked by a sort of Beecher-phobia, and they\nfoamed at the mouth over something that the pastor of Plymouth Church\nsaid. People who have small congregations are apt to dislike a preacher\nwho has a full church. For thirteen years, or more, Beecher's church and\nmine never collided. He had more people than he knew what to do with,\nand so had I. I belonged to the company of the orthodox, but if I\nthought that orthodoxy demanded that I must go and break other people's\nheads I would not remain orthodox five minutes. Brooklyn was called the\ncity of churches, but it could also be called the city of short\npastorates. Many of the churches, during fifteen years of my pastorate,\nhad two, three, and four pastors. Dr. Scudder came and went; so did Dr.\nPatten, Dr. Frazer, Dr. Buckley, Dr. Mitchell, Dr. Reid, Dr. Steele, Dr.\nGallagher, and a score of others. The Methodist Church was once famous\nfor keeping a minister only three or four years, but it is no longer\npeculiar in this respect. Mr. Beecher had been pastor for thirty-six\nyears in Brooklyn when, in the summer of 1883, he celebrated the\nanniversary of his seventieth birthday.\n\nEvery now and then, for many years, there was an investigation of some\nsort in Brooklyn. Our bridge was a favourite target of investigation.\n\"Where has the money for this great enterprise been expended?\" was the\ncommon question. I defended the trustees, because people did not realise\nthe emergencies that arose as the work progressed and entailed greater\nexpenditures. Originally, when projected, it was to cost $7,000,000, but\nthere was to be only one waggon road. It was resolved later to enlarge\nthe structure and build two waggon roads, and a place for trains,\nfreight, and passenger cars. Those enlarged plans were all to the\nultimate advantage of the growth of Brooklyn. It was at first intended\nto make the approaches of the bridge in trestle work, then plans were\nchanged and they were built of granite. The cable, which was originally\nto be made of iron, was changed to steel. For three years these cables\nwere the line on which the passengers on ferry-boats hung their jokes\nabout swindling and political bribery. No investigation was able to\nshake my respect for the integrity of Mr. Stranahan, one of the bridge\ntrustees. He did as much for Brooklyn as any man in it. He was the\npromoter of Prospect Park, designed and planned from his head and\nheart. With all the powers at my disposal I defended the bridge trustee.\n\nThere was an attempt in New York, towards the close of 1882, to present\nthe Passion Play on the stage of a theatre. A licence was applied for.\nThe artist, no matter how high in his profession, who would dare to\nappear in the character of the Divine Person, was fit only for the Tombs\nprison or Sing-Sing. I had no objection to any man attempting the role\nof Judas Iscariot. That was entirely within the limitations of stage\nart. Seth Low was Mayor of Brooklyn, and Mr. Grace was Mayor of New\nYork--a Protestant and a Catholic--and yet they were of one opinion on\nthis proposed blasphemy.\n\nI think everyone in America realised that the Democratic victory in the\nelection of Grover Cleveland, by a majority of 190,000 votes, as\nGovernor of New York, was a presidential prophecy. The contest for\nPresident came up, seriously, in the spring of 1883, and the same\nheadlines appeared in the political caucus. Among the candidates was\nBenjamin F. Butler, Governor of Massachusetts. I believed then there was\nnot a better man in the United States for President than Chester A.\nArthur. I believed that his faithfulness and dignity in office should be\nhonoured with the nomination. There was some surprise occasioned when\nHarvard refused to confer an LL.D. on Governor Butler, a rebuke that no\nprevious Governor of Massachusetts had suffered. After all, the country\nwas chiefly impressed in this event with the fact that an LL.D., or a\nD.D., or an F.R.S., did not make the man. Americans were becoming very\ngood readers of character; they could see at a glance the difference\nbetween right and wrong, but they were tolerant of both. Much more so\nthan I was. There was one great fault in American character that the\nwhole world admired; it was our love of hero-worship. A great man was\nthe man who did great things, no matter what that man might stand for in\nreligion or in morals.\n\nThere was Gambetta, whose friendship for America had won the admiration\nof our country. I myself admired his eloquence, his patriotism, his\ncourage in office as Prime Minister of France; but his dying words\nrolled like a wintry sea over all nations, \"I am lost!\" Gambetta was an\natheist, a man whose public indignities to womanhood were demonstrated\nfrom Paris to Berlin. Gambetta's patriotism for France could never atone\nfor his atheism, and his infamy towards women. His death, in the dawn of\n1883, was a page in the world's history turned down at the corner.\n\nWhat an important year it was to be for us! In the spring of 1883 the\nBrooklyn bridge was opened, and our church was within fifteen or twenty\nminutes of the hotel centre of New York. I said then that many of us\nwould see the population of Brooklyn quadrupled and sextupled. In many\nrespects, up to this time, Brooklyn had been treated as a suburb of New\nYork, a dormitory for tired Wall Streeters. With the completion of the\nbridge came new plans for rapid transit, for the widening of our\nstreets, for the advancement of our municipal interests. A consolidation\nof Brooklyn and New York was then under discussion. It was a bad\nlook-out for office-holders, but a good one for tax-payers. At least\nthat was the prospect, but I never will see much encouragement in\nAmerican politics.\n\nThe success of Grover Cleveland and his big majority, as Governor, led\nboth wings of the Democratic party to promise us the millennium. Even\nthe Republicans were full of national optimism, going over to the\nDemocrats to help the jubilee of reform. Four months later, although we\nwere told that Mr. Cleveland was to be President, he could not get his\nown legislature to ratify his nomination. His hands were tied, and his\nidolaters were only waiting for his term of office to expire. The\npoliticians lied about him. Because as Governor of New York he could not\ngive all the office-seekers places, he was, in a few months, executed by\nhis political friends, and the millennium was postponed that politics\nmight have time to find someone else to be lifted up--and in turn hurled\ninto oblivion.\n\nThat the politics of our country might serve a wider purpose, a great\nagitation among the newspapers began. The price of the great dailies\ncame down from four to three cents, and from three to two cents. In a\nweek it looked as though they would all be down to one cent. I expected\nto see them delivered free, with a bonus given for the favour of taking\nthem at all. It was not a pleasant outlook, this deluge of printed\nmatter, cheapened in every way, by cheaper labour, cheaper substance,\nand cheaper grammar. It was a plan that enlarged the scope of influence\nover what was arrogantly claimed as editorial territory--public opinion.\nPublic opinion is sound enough, so long as it is not taken too seriously\nin the newspapers.\n\nThe difference between a man as his antagonists depict him, and as he\nreally is in his own character, may be as wide as the ocean. I was\nparticularly impressed with this fact when I met the Rev. Dr. Ewer of\nNew York, who had been accused of being disputatious and arrogant. Truth\nwas, he was a master in the art of religious defence, wielding a\nscimitar of sharp edge. I never met a man with more of the childlike,\nthe affable, and the self-sacrificing qualities than Dr. Ewer had.\n\nHe was an honest man in the highest sense, with a never-varying purity\nof purpose. Dr. Ewer died in the fall of 1883.\n\nI began to feel that in the local management of our own big city there\nwas an uplift, when two such sterling young men as James W. Ridgeway,\nand Joseph C. Hendrix, were nominated for District Attorney. They were\nmerely technical opponents, but were united in the cause of reform and\nhonest administration against our criminal population. We were fortunate\nin the degree of promise there was, in having a choice of such competent\nnominees. But it was a period of historical jubilee in our country, this\nfall of 1883.\n\nWe were celebrating centennials everywhere, even at Harvard. It seemed\nto be about a hundred years back since anything worth while had really\nhappened in America. Since 1870 there had been a round of centennials.\nIt was a good thing in the busy glorification of a brilliant present,\nand a glorious future, that we rehearsed the struggle and hardships by\nwhich we had arrived to this great inheritance of blessing and\nprosperity.\n\n\"The United States Government is a bubble-bursting nationality,\" said\nLord John Russell, but every year since has disproved the accuracy of\nthis jeer. Even our elections disproved it. Candidates for the\nPresidency are pushed out of sight by a sudden wave of split tickets. In\nthe elections of 1883, in Ohio ten candidates were obliterated; in\nPennsylvania five were buried and fifteen resurrected. In Indiana, the\nrecord of names in United States political quicksands is too long too\nconsider, the new candidates that sprang up being still larger in\nnumbers. And yet only six men in any generation become President. Out of\nfive thousand men, who consider themselves competent to be captains,\nonly six are crowned with their ambition. And these six are not\ngenerally the men who had any prospect of becoming the people's choice.\nThe two political chiefs in convention, failing on the thirtieth ballot\nto get the nomination, some less conspicuous man is chosen as a\ncompromise. Political ambition seems to me a poor business. There are\nmen more worthy of national praise than the successful politicians; men\nlike Isaac Hull; men whose generous gifts and Christian careers\nperpetuate the magnificent purposes of our lives. Isaac Hull was a\nQuaker--one of the best in that sect. I lived among quakers for seven\nyears in Philadelphia, and I loved them. Mr. Hull illustrated in his\nlife the principles of his sect, characterised by integrity of finance\nand of soul. He rose to the front rank of public-spirited men, from the\nhumble duties of a farmer's boy. He was one of the most important\nmembers of the Society of Friends, and I valued the privilege of his\nfriendship more than that of any celebrity I ever knew. He lived for the\nprofit in standards rather than for wealth, and he passed on to a wider\ncircle of friends beyond.\n\nI have a little list of men who about this time passed away amid many\nantagonisms--men who were misunderstood while they lived. I knew their\nworth. There was John McKean, the District Attorney of New York, who\ndied in 1883, when criticism against him, of lawyers and judges, was\nmost bitter and cruel. A brilliant lawyer, he was accused of\nnon-performance of duty; but he died, knowing nothing of the delays\ncomplained of. He was blamed for what he could not help. Some stroke of\nill-health; some untoward worldly [_Transcriber's Note: original says\n\"wordly\"_] circumstances, or something in domestic conditions will often\ndisqualify a man for service; and yet he is blamed for idleness, for\nhaving possessions when the finances are cramped, for temper when the\nnerves have given out, for misanthropy when he has had enough to disgust\nhim for ever with the human race. After we have exhausted the vocabulary\nof our abuse, such men die, and there is no reparation we can make. In\nspite of the abuse John McKean received, the courts adjourned in honour\nof his death--but that was a belated honour. McKean was one of the\nkindest of men; he was merciful and brave.\n\nThere was Henry Villard, whose bankruptcy of fortune killed him. He was\ncompelled to resign the presidency of the Northern Pacific Railroad\nCompany, to resign his fortune, to resign all but his integrity. That he\nkept, though every dollar had gone. Only two years before his financial\ncollapse he was worth $30,000,000. In putting the great Northern Pacific\nRailroad through he swamped everything he had. All through Minnesota and\nthe North-west I heard his praises. He was a man of great heart and\nunbounded generosity, on which fed innumerable human leeches, enough of\nthem to drain the life of any fortune that was ever made. On a\nmagnificent train he once took, free of charge, to the Yellowstone Park,\na party of men, who denounced him because, while he provided them with\nevery luxury, they could not each have a separate drawing-room car to\nthemselves. I don't believe since the world began there went through\nthis country so many titled nonentities as travelled then, free of cost,\non the generous bounty of Mr. Villard. The most of these people went\nhome to the other side of the sea, and wrote magazine articles on the\nconditions of American society, while Mr. Villard went into bankruptcy.\nIt was the last straw that broke the camel's back. It would not be so\nbad if riches only had wings with which to fly away; but they have claws\nwith which they give a parting clutch that sometimes clips a man's\nreason, or crushes his heart. It is the claw of riches we must look out\nfor.\n\nThen there was Wendell Phillips! Not a man in this country was more\nadmired and more hated than he was. Many a time, addressing a big\naudience, he would divide them into two parts--those who got up to leave\nwith indignation, and those who remained to frown. He was often, during\na lecture, bombarded with bricks and bad eggs. But he liked it. He could\nendure anything in an audience but silence, and he always had a secure\nfollowing of admirers.\n\nHe told me once that in some of the back country towns of Pennsylvania\nit nearly killed him to lecture. \"I go on for an hour,\" he told me,\n\"without hearing one response, and I have no way of knowing whether the\npeople are instructed, pleased, or outraged.\"\n\nHe enjoyed the tempestuous life. His other life was home. It was\ndominant in his appreciation. He owed much of his courage to that home.\nLecturing in Boston once, during most agitated times, he received this\nnote from his wife: \"No shilly-shallying, Wendell, in the presence of\nthis great public outrage.\" Many men in public life owe their strength\nto this reservoir of power at home.\n\nThe last fifteen years of his life were devoted to the domestic\ninvalidism of his home. Some men thought this was unjustifiable. But\nwhat exhaustion of home life had been given to establish his public\ncareer! A popular subscription was started to raise a monument in\nBoston to Wendell Phillips. I recommended that it should be built within\nsight of the monument erected to Daniel Webster. If there were ever two\nmen who during their life had an appalling antagonism, they were Daniel\nWebster and Wendell Phillips. I hoped at that time their statues would\nbe erected facing each other. Wendell Phillips was fortunate in his\ndomestic tower of strength; still, I have known men whose domestic lives\nwere painful in the extreme, and yet they arose above this deficiency to\ngreat personal prominence.\n\nWhat is good for one man is not good for another. It is the same with\nState rights as it is with private rights. In '83-'84, the whole country\nwas agitated about the questions of tariff reform and free trade. Tariff\nreform for Pennsylvania, free trade for Kentucky. New England and the\nNorth-west had interests that would always be divergent. It was absurd\nto try and persuade the American people that what was good for one State\nwas good for another State. Common intelligence showed how false this\ntheory was. Until by some great change the manufacturing interests of\nthe country should become national interests, co-operation and\ncompromise in inter-state commerce was necessary. No one section of the\ncountry could have its own way. The most successful candidate for the\nPresidency at this time seemed to be the man who could most bewilder the\npublic mind on these questions. Blessed in politics is the political\nfog!\n\nThe most significantly hopeful fact to me was that the three prominent\ncandidates for Speakership at the close of 1883--Mr. Carlisle, Mr.\nRandall, and Mr. Cox--never had wine on their tables. We were, moreover,\ngetting away from the old order of things, when senators were\nconspicuous in gambling houses. The world was advancing in a spiritual\ntransit of events towards the close. It was time that it gave way to\nsomething even better. It had treated me gloriously, and I had no fault\nto find with it, but I had seen so many millions in hunger and pain, and\nwretchedness and woe that I felt this world needed either to be fixed up\nor destroyed.\n\nThe world had had a hard time for six thousand years, and, as the new\nyear of 1884 approached, there were indications that our planet was\ngetting restless. There were earthquakes, great storms, great drought.\nIt may last until some of my descendants shall head their letters with\nJanuary 1, 15,000, A.D.; but I doubt it.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EIGHTH MILESTONE\n\n1884-1885\n\n\nI reached the fiftieth year of my life in December, 1883. In my long\nresidence in Brooklyn I had found it to be the healthiest city in the\nworld. It had always been a good place to live in--plenty of fresh air\nblowing up from the sea--plenty of water rolling down through our\nreservoirs--the Sabbaths too quiet to attract ruffianism.\n\nOf all the men I have seen and heard and known, there were but a few\ndeep friendships that I depended upon. In February, 1884, I lost one of\nthese by the decease of Thomas Kinsella, a Brooklyn man of public\naffairs, of singular patriotism and local pride.\n\nYears ago, when I was roughly set upon by ecclesiastical assailants, he\ngave one wide swing of his editorial scimitar, which helped much in\ntheir ultimate annihilation. My acquaintance with him was slight at the\ntime, and I did not ask him to help me. I can more easily forget a wrong\ndone to me than I can forget a kindness. He was charitable to many who\nnever knew of it. By reason of my profession, there came to me many\nstories of distress and want, and it was always Mr. Kinsella's hand that\nwas open to befriend the suffering. Bitter in his editorial\nantagonisms, he was wide in his charities. One did not have to knock at\nmany iron gates to reach his sympathies.\n\nMr. Kinsella died of overwork, from the toil of years that taxed his\nstrength. None but those who have been behind the scenes can appreciate\nthe energies that are required in making up a great daily newspaper. Its\ndemands for \"copy\" come with such regularity. Newspaper writers must\nproduce just so much, whether they feel like it or not. There is no\nnewspaper vacation. So the commanders-in-chief of the great dailies\noften die of overwork. Henry J. Raymond died that way, Samuel Bowles,\nHorace Greeley. Once in a while there are surviving veterans like\nThurlow Weed, or Erastus Brooks, or James Watson Webb--but they shifted\nthe most of the burden on others as they grew old. Success in any\ncalling means drudgery, sacrifice, push, and tug, but especially so in\nthe ranks of the newspaper armies.\n\nA great many of us, however, about this time, survived a worse fate,\nthough how we did it is still a mystery of the period. We discovered, in\nthe spring of 1884, that we had been eating and drinking things not to\nbe mentioned. Honest old-fashioned butter had melted and run out of the\nworld. Instead of it we had trichinosis in all styles served up morning\nand evening--all the evils of the food creation set before us in raw\nshape, or done up in puddings, pies, and gravies. The average hotel hash\nwas innocent merriment compared to our adulterated butter. The candies,\nwhich we bought for our children, under chemical analysis, were found to\nbe crystallised disease. Lozenges were of red lead. Coffees and teas\nwere so adulterated that we felt like Charles Lamb, who, in a similar\npredicament, said, \"If this be coffee, give me tea; and if it be tea,\ngive me coffee.\" Even our medicines were so craftily adulterated that\nthey were sure to kill. There was alum in our bread, chalk in our milk,\nglass in our sugar, Venetian red in our cocoa, and heaven knows what in\nthe syrup.\n\nToo much politics in our food threatened to demoralise our large cities.\nThe same thing had happened in London, in 1868. We survived it, kept on\npreaching against it, and giving money to prosecute the guilty. It was\nan age of pursuit; ministers pursuing ministers, lawyers pursuing\nlawyers, doctors, merchants, even Arctic explorers pursuing one another,\nthe North Pole a jealous centre of interest. Everything is frozen in the\nArctic region save the jealousies of the Arctic explorers. Even the\nNorth Pole men were like others. This we discovered in 1884, when, in\nWashington, the post-mortem trial of DeLong and his men was in progress.\nThere was nothing to be gained by the controversy. There were no laurels\nto be awarded by this investigation, because the men whose fame was most\ninvolved were dead. It was a quarrel, and the \"Jeannette\" was the\ngraveyard in which it took place. It was disgraceful.\n\nJealousy is the rage of a man, also of a woman.\n\nIt was evident, in the progress of this one-sided trial, that our\nlegislature needed to have their corridors, their stairways, and their\nrooms cleaned of lobbyists.\n\nAt the State Capital in Albany, one bright spring morning in the same\nyear, the legislature rose and shook itself, and the Sergeant-at-Arms\nwas instructed to drive the squad of lobbyists out of the building. He\ndid it so well that he scarcely gave them time to get their canes or\ntheir hats. Some of the lowest men in New York and Brooklyn were among\nthem. That was a spring cleaning worth while. But it was only a little\ncorner of the political arena that was unclean.\n\nI remember how eagerly, when I went to Canada in April, the reporters\nkept asking me who would be the next President. It would have been such\nan easy thing to answer if I had only known who the man was. In this\ndilemma I suggested some of our best presidential timber in Brooklyn as\nsuitable candidates. These were General Slocum, General Woodford,\nGeneral Tracey, Mayor Low, Judge Pratt, Judge Tierney, Mr. Stranahan,\nand Judge Neilson. Some of these men had been seriously mentioned for\nthe office. Honourable mention was all they got, however. They were too\nunpretentious for the role. It was the beginning of a mud-slinging\ncampaign. New York versus New York--Brooklyn versus Brooklyn.\n\nI long ago came to the conclusion that the real heroes of the world were\non the sea. The ambitions of men crowded together on land were\nincontestably disgusting. On the vast, restless deep men stand alone, in\nbrave conflict with constant danger. I was always deeply impressed by\nthe character of men, as revealed in disasters of the sea. There were\nmany of them during my life-time. The bigger the ships grew, the more\ndangerous became ocean travel. Our improvements seemed to add to the\nhumour of grim old Neptune. In 1884 the ocean was becoming a great\nturnpike road, and people were required by law to keep to the right or\nto the left. A population of a million sailors was on the sea at all\ntimes. Some of the ships were too busy to stop to save human lives, as\nwas the case in the disaster of the \"Florida.\" In distress, her captain\nhailed \"The City of Rome,\" a monster of the deep. But \"The City of\nRome\" had no time to stop, and passed on by. The lifeboats of the\n\"Florida\" were useless shells, utterly unseaworthy. The \"Florida\" was\nunfit for service. John Bayne, the engineer, was the hero who lost his\nlife to save others. But this was becoming a common story of the sea;\nfor when the \"Schiller\" went down, Captain Thomas gave his life for\nothers. When the \"Central-America\" sank, President Arthur's\nfather-in-law perished in the same way. Every shipwreck I have known\nseems lighted up with some marvellous deed of heroism in man.\n\nIn 1884 there was a failure in Wall Street for eight or ten million\ndollars, and hundreds went down during this shipwreck. By heroism and\ncourage alone were they able to outlive it. To whom did all this money\nbelong? To those who were drowned in the storm of financial sea. But it\nwas only a Wall Street flurry; it did not affect the national ship as it\nwould have done twenty years before. The time had passed when Wall\nStreet could jeopardise the commerce of the country. Twenty years\nbefore, such a calamity in three days' time would have left all the\nbusiness of the nation in the dust. It would have crashed down all the\nbanks, the insurance companies, the stock-houses. New York, Boston,\nPhiladelphia, San Francisco, New Orleans--from coast to coast,\neverything would have tumbled down.\n\nThe principal lesson derived from this panic was to keep excitable men\nout of Wall Street. While the romance of a failure for hundreds of\nthousands of dollars is more appealing than a failure for a small sum,\nthe greater the deficit the greater the responsibility. Ferdinand Ward\nwas in this Wall Street crash of 1883. The roseate glasses of wealth\nthrough which he saw the world had made him also see millions in every\ndirection. George L. Seney lost his bank and railroad stock in this\nfailure, but he had given hundreds of thousands to the cause of\neducation, North and South. Some people regretted that he had not kept\nhis fortune to help him out of his trouble. I believe there were\nthousands of good people all over the country who prayed that this\nphilanthropist might be restored to wealth. There was one man in Wall\nStreet at this time who I said could not fail. He was Mr. A.S. Hatch,\nPresident of the New York Stock Exchange. He had given large sums of\nmoney to Christian work, and was personally an active church member.\n\nThat which I hear about men who are unfortunate makes no impression on\nme. There is always a great jubilee over the downfall of a financier. I\nlike to put the best phase possible upon a man's misfortune. No one\nbegrudged the wealth of the rich men of the past.\n\nThe world was becoming too compressed, it was said; there was not room\nenough to get away from your troubles. All the better. It was getting to\na compactness that could be easily poked up and divinely appropriated. A\nnew cable was landed at Rockport, Mass., that was to bring the world\ninto closer reunion of messages. We were to have cheaper cable service\nunder the management of the Commercial Cable Company. Simultaneously\nwith this information, the s.s. \"America\" made the astounding record of\na trip from shore to shore of the Atlantic, in six days fourteen hours\nand eighteen minutes. It was a startling symbol of future wonders. I\npromised then to exchange pulpits with any church in England once a\nmonth. It seemed a possibility, as proposed in Mr. Corbin's scheme of\nharbours at Montauk Point. There were pauses in the breathless speed we\nwere just beginning at this time. We paused to say farewell to the good\nmen whom we were passing by. They were not spectacular. Some of them\nwill no doubt be unknown to the reader.\n\nA gentle old man, his face illumined always by a radiant smile, fell\nbehind. He was Bishop Simpson. We paused to bid him farewell. In 1863,\nwalking the streets of Philadelphia one night with an army surgeon, we\npassed the Academy of Music in that city, where a meeting was being held\non behalf of the Christian Commission, the object of which was to take\ncare of wounded soldiers. As we stood at the back of the stage\nlistening, the meeting seemed to be very dull. A speaker was introduced.\nHis voice was thin, his manner unimpressive. My friend said, \"Let's go,\"\nbut I replied, \"Wait until we see what there is in him.\" Suddenly, he\ngrew upon us. The address became adorned with a pathos, a sublimity, and\nan enthusiasm that overwhelmed the audience. When the speaker sat down,\nI inquired who he was.\n\n\"That is Bishop Simpson,\" said my informant. In later years, I learned\nthat the Bishop's address that night was the great hour of his life. His\nreputation became national. He was one of the few old men who knew how\nto treat young men. He used no gestures on the platform, no climaxes, no\ndramatic effects of voice, yet he was eloquent beyond description. His\nearnestness broke over and broke through all rules of rhetoric. He made\nhis audiences think and feel as he did himself. That, I believe, is the\nbest of a man's inner salvation.\n\nIn the autumn of the same year we paused to close the chapters of Jerry\nMcCauley's life, a man who had risen from the depths of crime and\nsin--a different sort of man from Bishop Simpson. He was born in the\nhome of a counterfeiter. He became a thief, an outlaw. By an influence\nthat many consider obsolete and old-fashioned, he became converted, and\nwas recognised by the best men and women in New York and Brooklyn. I\nknew McCauley. I stood with him on the steps of his mission in Water\nStreet. He was a river thief changed into an angel. It was supernatural,\na miracle. McCauley gave twelve years to his mission work. Two years\nbefore his death he changed his quarters, converting a dive into a House\nof God. What an imbecile city government refused to touch was\nsurrendered to hosannas and doxologies. The story of Jerry McCauley's\nmissionary work in the heart of a wicked section of New York was called\nromantic. I attest that I am just as keenly sensitive to the beauty of\nromance as any human being, but there was a great deal that was called\nromantic in American life in 1884-1885 that was not so. Romance became a\nroseate mist, through which old and young saw the obligations of life\nbut dimly.\n\nA strange romance of marriage became epidemic in America at this time.\nEuropean ethics were being imported, and the romance of European liberty\nswept over us. A parental despotism was responsible. The newspapers of\nthe summer of 1884 were full of elopements. They were long exciting\nchapters of domestic calamity. My sympathies were with the young fellow\nof seven hundred dollars income, married to a millionaire fool who\ncontinually informed him how much better her position was before she\nleft home; the honeymoon a bliss of six months, and all the rest of his\nlife a profound wish that he had never been born; his only redress the\ndivorce court or the almshouse. The poetry of these elopements was\nfalse, the prose that came after was the truth. Marriage is an\nold-fashioned business, and that wedding procession lasts longest that\nstarts not down the ladder out of the back window, but from the front\ndoor with a benediction.\n\nBut, morally and politically, we were in a riot of opinion against which\nI constantly protested. Politically, we were without morals.\n\nThe opposing Presidential candidates in 1884 were Grover Cleveland and\nJames G. Blaine. It was the wonder of the world that the American people\ndid not make Mr. Blaine President. There was a world-wide amazement also\nat the abuse which preceded Mr. Cleveland's election. The whole thing\nwas a spectacle of the ignorance of men about great men. All sorts of\ndefamatory reports were spread abroad about them. Men of mind are also\nmen of temperament. There are two men in every one man, and for this\nreason Mr. Blaine was the most misunderstood of great men. To the end of\nhis brilliant life calumny pursued him. There were all sorts of reports\nabout him.\n\nOne series of reports said that Mr. Blaine was almost unable to walk;\nthat he was too sick to be seen; that death was for him close at hand,\nand his obituaries were in type in many of the printing offices.\n\nThe other series of reports said that Mr. Blaine was vigorous; went up\nthe front steps of his house at a bound; was doing more work than ever,\nand was rollicking with mirth. The baleful story was ascribed to his\nenemies, who wanted the great man out of the world. The reassuring story\nwas ascribed to his friends, who wanted to keep him in the ranks of\nPresidential possibilities.\n\nThe fact is that both reports were true. There were two Mr. Blaines, as\nthere are two of every mercurial temperament. Of the phlegmatic,\nslow-pulsed man there is only one. You see him once and you see him as\nhe always is. Not so with the nervous organisation. He has as many moods\nas the weather, as many changes as the sky. He is bright or dull, serene\nor tempestuous, cold or hot, up or down, January or August, day or\nnight, Arctic or tropical. At Washington, in 1889, I saw the two Blaines\nwithin two hours. I called with my son to see the great Secretary of\nState at his office, and although it was his day for seeing foreign\ndiplomats, he received us with great cordiality. His face was an\nillumination; his voice resonant; his manner animated; he was full of\ngesticulation. He walked up and down the room describing things under\ndiscussion; fire in his eye, spring in his step. Although about\nfifty-nine years of age, he looked forty-five, and strong enough to\nwrestle with two or three ordinary men. He had enough vitality for an\nathlete.\n\nWe parted. My son and I went down the street, made two or three other\ncalls, and on the way noticed a carriage passing with two or three\npeople in it. My attention was startled by the appearance in that\ncarriage of what seemed a case of extreme invalidism. The man seemed\nsomewhat bolstered up. My sympathies were immediately aroused, and I\nsaid to my son, \"Look at that sick man riding yonder.\" When the carriage\ncame nearer to us, my son said, \"That is Mr. Blaine.\" Looking closely at\nthe carriage I found that this was so. He had in two hours swung from\nvigour to exhaustion, from the look of a man good for twenty years of\nsuccessful work to a man who seemed to be taking his last ride. He\nsimply looked as he felt on both occasions. We had seen the two Blaines.\n\nHow much more just we would be in our judgment of men if we realised\nthat a man may be honestly two different men, and how this theory would\nexplain that which in every man of high organisation seems sometimes to\nbe contradictory! Aye, within five minutes some of us with mercurial\nnatures can remember to have been two entirely different men in two\nentirely different worlds. Something said to us cheering or depressing;\nsome tidings announced, glad or sad; some great kindness done for us, or\nsome meanness practised on us have changed the zone, the pulsation, the\nphysiognomy, the physical, the mental, the spiritual condition, and we\nbecome no more what we were than summer is winter, or midnoon is\nmidnight, or frosts are flowers.\n\nThe air was full of political clamour and strife in the election of\n1884. Never in this country was there a greater temptation to political\nfraud, because, after four month's battle, the counting of the ballots\nrevealed almost a tie. I urged self-control among men who were angry and\nmen who were bitter. The enemies of Mr. Blaine were not necessarily the\nfriends of Mr. Cleveland. The enemies of Mr. Cleveland were bitter, but\nthey were afraid of Mr. Blaine; for he was a giant intellectually,\npractically, physically, and he stood in the centre of a national arena\nof politics, prepared to meet all challenge. Mr. Cleveland never really\nopposed him. He faced him on party issues, not as an individual\nantagonist. The excitement was intense during the suspense that followed\nthe counting of the ballots, and Mr. Cleveland went into the White House\namidst a roar of public opinion so confused and so vicious that there\nwas no certainty of ultimate order in the country. In after years I\nenjoyed his confidence and friendship, and I learned to appreciate the\nstability and reserve of his nature. In a Milestone beyond this, I have\nrecalled a conversation I had with him at the White House, and recorded\nmy impressions of him. Above the clamour of these troublesome times, I\nraised my voice and said that in the distant years to come the electors\nof New York, Alabama, and Maine, and California, would march together\ndown Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington for the discharge of the great\nduties of the Electoral College.\n\nThe storm passed, and the Democrats were in power. It was the calm that\nfollows an electrical disturbance. The paroxysm of filth and moral death\nwas over.\n\nMr. Vanderbilt, converted into a philanthropist, gave five hundred\nthousand dollars to a medical institute, and the world began to see new\npossibilities in great fortunes. That a railroad king could also be a\nChristian king was a hopeful tendency of the times. These were the acts\nthat tended to smother the activities of Communism in America.\n\nIn the previous four years the curious astronomer had discovered the\nevolution of a new world in the sky, and so while on earth there were\nconvulsions, in the skies there were new beauties born. With the rising\nsun of the year 1885, one of our great and good men of Brooklyn saw it\nwith failing eyesight. Doctor Noah Hunt Schenck, pastor of St. Ann's\nEpiscopal Church, was stricken. For fifteen years he had blessed our\ncity with his benediction. The beautiful cathedral which grew to its\nproportions of grandeur under Doctor Schenck's pastorate, stood as a\nmonument to him.\n\nA few weeks later Schuyler Colfax, speaker of the House of\nRepresentatives, passed on. In the vortex of political feeling his\nintegrity was attacked but I never believed a word of the accusations.\nTen millions of people hoped for his election as President. He was my\npersonal friend. When the scandal of his life was most violent, he\nexplained it all away satisfactorily in my own house. This explanation\nwas a confidence that I cannot break, but it made me ever afterwards a\nloyal friend to his memory. He was one of those upon whom was placed the\nburden of living down a calumny, and when he died Congress adjourned in\nhis honour. Members of the legislature in his own country gathered about\nhis obsequies. I have known many men in public life, but a more lovable\nman than Schuyler Colfax I never knew. The generous words he spoke of me\non the last Sabbath of his life I shall never forget. The perpetual\nsmile on his face was meanly caricatured, and yet it was his benediction\nupon a world unworthy of him.\n\nIn 1885, from far away over the sea came muffled thunder tones of war\nand rebellion. The deadly nightshade was indigenous to our times. The\ndynamite outrages at Westminster Hall and the House of Commons were\nexplosions we in America heard faintly. Their importance was\nexaggerated. A hundred years back, the kings of England, of France, of\nRussia who died in their beds were rare. The violent incidents of life\nwere less conspicuous as the years went on. What riots Philadelphia had\nseen during the old firemen's battle in the streets! And those\ntheatrical riots in New York, when the military was called out, and had\nto fire into the mob, because the friends of Macready and Forrest could\nnot agree as to which was the better actor!\n\nAn alarming number of disputes came up at this time over wills. The\nOrphan Courts were over-worked with these cases. I suggested a rule for\nall wills: one-third at least to the wife, and let the children share\nalike. When a child receives more than a wife, the family is askew. A\nman's wife should be first in every ambition, in every provision.\nOne-third to the wife is none too much. The worst family feuds proceed\nfrom inequality of inheritance.\n\nThis question of rights under testamentary gifts of the rich was not so\nimportant, however, as the alarming growth in our big cities of the\nproblem of the poor. The tenement house became a menace to cleanliness.\nNever before were there so many people living in unswept, unaired\ntenements. Stairs below stairs, stairs above stairs, where all the laws\nof health were violated. The Sanitary Protective League was organised to\nalleviate these conditions. Asiatic cholera was striding over Europe,\nand the tenement house of America was a resting place for it here.\n\nAfter a lecturing trip in the spring of 1885 through Ohio, Indiana,\nMichigan, Illinois, and Wisconsin, I returned to Brooklyn, delighted\nwith the confidence with which the people looked forward to the first\nCleveland administration. On the day that $50,000,000 was voted for the\nRiver and Harbour Bill, both parties sharing in the spoils, American\npolitics touched bottom. There were symptoms of recuperation in Mr.\nCleveland's initiative. Belligerency was abandoned as a hopeless\ncampaign.\n\nThe graceful courtesy with which President Arthur bowed himself out of\nthe White House was unparalleled. Never in my memory was a sceptre so\ngracefully relinquished. Nothing in his three-and-a-half years of office\ndid him more credit. I think we never had a better President than Mr.\nArthur. He was fortunate in having in his Cabinet as chief adviser Mr.\nFrederick T. Frelinghuysen.\n\nMy office as a minister compelled me to see, first and foremost, the\nrighteous uplift of the events as I passed along with them. These were\nnot always the most conspicuous elements of public interest, but they\ncomprised the things and the people I saw.\n\nI recall, for instance, chief amongst the incidents of Mr. Cleveland's\nadministration, that the oath of office was administered upon his\nmother's Bible. Many people regarded this as mere sentimentality. To me\nit meant more than words could express. The best of Bibles is the\nmother's. It meant that the man who chose to be sworn in on such a book\nhad a grateful remembrance. It was as though he had said, \"If it had not\nbeen for her, this honour would never have come to me.\" For all there is\nof actual solemnity in the usual form of taking an oath, people might\njust as well be sworn in on a city directory or an old almanac. But, as\nI said then, I say now--make way for an administration that starts from\nthe worn and faded covers of a Bible presented by a mother's hand at\nparting.\n\nMr. Blaine's visit to the White House to congratulate the victor, his\ncordial reception there, and his long stay, was another bright side of\nthe election contest. There must have been a good deal of lying about\nthese two men when they were wrestling for the honours, for if all that\nwas said had been true the scene of hearty salutation between them would\nnot only have been unfit, but impossible.\n\nAll this optimism of outlook helped to defeat the animosity of the\nprevious campaign. A crowning influence upon the national confusion of\nstandards was the final unanimous vote in Congress in favour of putting\nGeneral Grant on the retired list, with a suitable provision for his\nlivelihood, in view of a malady that had come upon him. It had been a\nlong, angry, bitter debate, but the generous quality of American\nsympathy prevailed. Men who fought on the other side and men who had\nopposed his Presidential policy united to alleviate his sickness, the\npulsations of which the nation was counting. President Arthur's last act\nwas to recommend General Grant's relief, and almost the first act of Mr.\nCleveland's administration was to ratify it. Republics are not\nungrateful. The American Republic subscribed about $400,000 for the\nrelief of Mrs. Garfield; voted pensions for Mrs. Polk and Mrs. Tyler;\nsome years ago subscribed $250,000 for General Grant, and increased it\nby vote of Congress in 1885. The Conqueror on the pale horse had already\ntaken many prisoners among the surviving heroes of the war. It was\nfitting that he should make his coming upon the great leader of the\nUnion Army as gentle as the south wind.\n\nThere was a surplus of men fit for official position in America when the\nhour of our new appointments arrived. There were hundreds of men\ncompetent to become ministers to England, to France, to Germany, to\nRussia; as competent as James Russell Lowell or Mr. Phelps. This was all\ndue to the affluence of American institutions, that spread the benefits\nof education broadcast. I remember when Daniel Webster died, people\nsaid, \"We shall have no one now to expound the constitution,\" but the\nchief expositions of the constitution have been written and uttered\nsince then. There were pigmies in the old days, too. I had a friend who,\nas a stenographer some years ago, made a fortune by knocking bad grammar\nout of the speeches of Congressmen and Senators, who were illiterate.\nThey said to him haughtily, \"Stenographer, here are a couple of hundred\ndollars; fix up that speech I made this morning, and see that it gets\ninto the Congressional Record all right. If you can't fix it up, write\nanother.\"\n\nIn 1885, there were plenty of women, too, who understood politics. There\nwere mean and silly women, of course, but there was a new race springing\nup of grand, splendid, competent women, with a knowledge of affairs. The\nappointment of Mr. Cox as Minister to Turkey was a compliment to\nAmerican literature. In consequence of a picturesque description he gave\nof some closing day in a foreign country, he was facetiously nicknamed\n\"Sunset Cox.\" I rechristened him \"Sunrise Cox.\" When President Tyler\nappointed Washington Irving as Minister to Spain, he set an example for\nall time. Men of letters put their blood into their inkstands, but the\nsacrifice is poorly recognised.\n\nSome of us were faintly urging world-wide peace, but around the night\nsky of 1885 was the glare of many camp fires. Never were there so many\nwars on the calendar at the same time. The Soudan war, the threat of a\nRusso-English war and of a Franco-Chinese war, the South-American war,\nthe Colombian war--all the nations restless and arming. The scarlet rash\nof international hatred spread over the earth, and there were many\npredictions. I said then it was comparatively easy to foretell the issue\nof these wars--excepting one. I believed that the Revolutionist of\nPanama would be beaten; the half-breed overcome by the Canadian; that\nFrance would humble China, but that the Central American war would go\non, and stop, and go on again, and stop again, until, discovering some\nWashington or Hamilton or Jefferson of its own, it would establish a\nUnited States of South America corresponding with the United States of\nNorth America. The Soudan war would cease when the English Government\nabandoned the attempt to fix up in Egypt things unfixable. But what\nwould be the result of the outbreak between England and Russia was the\nwar problem of the world. The real question at issue was whether Europe\nshould be dominated by the lion or the bear.\n\nIn the United States we had no internal frictions which threatened us so\nmuch as rum and gambling. In Brooklyn we never ceased bombarding these\nrebellious agents of war on the character of young men. Coney Island was\nonce a beautiful place, but in the five years since that time, when it\nwas a garden by the sea, the races at Brighton Beach and Sheepshead Bay\nhad been established. In New York and Brooklyn pool rooms were open for\nbetting on these races. In ten years' time I predicted that no decent\nman or woman would be able to visit Coney Island. The evil was\nstupendous, and the subject of Coney Island could no longer be neglected\nin the pulpit.\n\nBetting was a new-fashioned sort of vice in America in 1885; it was just\nbecoming a licensed relaxation for young boys. As the years went on, it\nhas grown to great distinction in all forms of American life, but it was\nyet only at its starting point in this year. Looking over an address I\nmade on this subject, I find this statement:\n\n\"What a spectacle when, at Saratoga, or at Long Branch, or at Brighton\nBeach, the horses stop, and in a flash $50,000 or $100,000 change\nhands--multitudes ruined by losses, others, ruined by winnings.\" Many\nyears afterwards the money involved in racing was in the millions; but\nin 1885, $100,000 was still a good bit. There were three kinds of\nbetting at the horse races then--by auction pools, by French mutuals,\nand by what is called bookmaking--all of these methods controlled \"for a\nconsideration.\" The pool seller deducted three or five per cent. from\nthe winning bet (incidentally \"ringing up\" more tickets than were sold\non the winning horse), while the bookmaker, for special inducement,\nwould scratch any horse in the race. The jockey also, for a\nconsideration, would slacken speed to allow a prearranged winner to walk\nin, while the judges on the stand turned their backs.\n\nIt was just a swindling trust. And yet, these race tracks on a fine\nafternoon were crowded with intelligent men of good standing in the\ncommunity, and frequently the parasols of the ladies gave colour and\nbrilliancy to the scene. Our most beautiful watering places were all but\ndestroyed by the race tracks. To stop all this was like turning back the\nocean tides, so regular became the habit of gambling, of betting, of\nbeing legally swindled in America. No one was interested in the evils of\nlife. We were on the frontier of a greater America, a greater waste of\nmoney, a greater paradise of pleasure.\n\nSome notice was taken of General Grant's malady, mysteriously pronounced\nincurable. The bulletins informed us that his life might last a week, a\nday, an hour--and still the famous old warrior kept getting better. One\nmoment Grant was dying, the next he was dining heartily at his own\ndinner table. This was one of the mysteries of the period. Personally, I\nbelieve the prayers of the Church kept him alive.\n\nIn April, 1885, the huge pedestal for the wonderful statue of Liberty,\npresented to us by the citizens of France, was started. That which\nCongress had ignored, and the philanthropists of America had neglected,\nthe masses were doing by their modest subscription--a dollar from the\nmen, ten cents from the children. All Europe wrapped in war cloud made\nthe magnificence and splendour of our enlightened liberty greater than\never. It was time that the gates of the sea, the front door of America,\nshould be made more attractive. Castle Garden was a gloomy corridor\nthrough which to arrive. I urged that the harbour fortresses should be\nterraced with flowers, fitting the approach to the forehead of this\ncontinent that Bartholdi was to illumine with his Coronet of Flame.\n\nThe Bartholdi statue, as we read and heard, and talked about it, became\nan inspired impulse to fine art in America. In the right hand of the\nstatue was to be a torch; in the left hand, a scroll representing the\nlaw. What a fine conception of true liberty! It was my hope then that\nfifty years after the statue had been placed on its pedestal the foreign\nships passing Bedloe's Island, by that allegory, should ever understand\nthat in this country it is liberty according to law. Life, as we should\nlive it, is strong, according to our obedience of its statutes.\n\nIn my boyhood this was impressed upon me by association and example.\nWhen in May, 1885, Frederick T. Frelinghuysen, ex-Secretary of State,\ndied, I was forcibly reminded of this fact. I grew up in a neighbourhood\nwhere the name of Frelinghuysen was a synonym for purity of character\nand integrity. There were Dominie Frelinghuysen, General John\nFrelinghuysen, Senator Theodore Frelinghuysen--and Frederick\nFrelinghuysen, the father of \"Fred,\" as he was always called in his home\nstate. When I was a boy, \"Fred\" Frelinghuysen practised in the old\nSomerville Courthouse in New Jersey, and I used to crowd in and listen\nto his eloquence, and wonder how he could have composure enough to face\nso many people. He was the king of the New Jersey bar. Never once in his\nwhole lifetime was his name associated with a moral disaster of any\nkind. Amid the pomp and temptations of Washington he remained a\nconsistent Christian. All the Feloniousness were alike--grandfather,\ngrandson, and uncle. On one side of the sea was the Prime Minister of\nEngland, Gladstone; on the other side was Secretary of State\nFrelinghuysen; two men whom I associate in mutual friendship and\nesteem.\n\nTowards the end of June, 1885, we were tremendously excited. All one day\nlong the cheek of New York was flushed with excitement over the arrival\nof the Bartholdi statue. Bunting and banners canopied the harbour,\nfluttered up and down the streets, while minute guns boomed, and bands\nof music paraded. We had miraculously escaped the national disgrace of\nnot having a place to put it on when it arrived. It was a gift that\nmeant European and American fraternity. The $100,000 contributed by the\nmasses for the pedestal on Bedloe's Island was an estimate of American\ngratitude and courtesy to France. The statue itself would stand for ages\nas the high-water mark of civilisation. From its top we expected to see\nthe bright tinge of the dawn of universal peace.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NINTH MILESTONE\n\n1885-1886\n\n\nAs time kept whispering its hastening call into my ear I grew more and\nmore vigorous in my outlook. I was given strength to hurry faster\nmyself, with a certain energy to climb higher up, where the view was\nwider, bigger, clearer. As I moved upward I had but one fear, and that\nwas of looking backward. A minister, entrusted with the charge of souls,\ncannot afford to retrace his steps. He must go on, and up, to the top of\nhis abilities, of his spiritual purposes.\n\nIn the midst of a glorious summer, I refused to see the long shadows of\ndeparting day; in the midst of a snow deep winter, I declined to slip\nand slide as I went on. So it happened that a great many gathered about\nme in the tabernacle, because they felt that I was passing on, and they\nwanted to see how fast I could go. I aimed always for a higher place and\nthe way to get up to it, and I took them along with me, always a little\nfurther, week by week.\n\nThe pessimists came to me and said that the world would soon have a\nsurplus of educated men, that the colleges were turning out many\nnerveless and useless youngsters, that education seemed to be one of the\nfollies of 1885. The fact was we were getting to be far superior to what\nwe had been. The speeches at the commencement classes were much better\nthan those we had made in our boyhood. We had dropped the old harangues\nabout Greece and Rome. We were talking about the present. The sylphs and\nnaiads and dryads had already gone out of business. College education\nhad been revolutionised. Students were not stuffed to the Adam's apple\nwith Latin and Greek. The graduates were improved in physique. A great\nadvance was reached when male and female students were placed in the\nsame institutions, side by side. God put the two sexes together in Eden,\nHe put them beside each other in the family. Why not in the college?\n\nThere were those who seemed to regard woman as a Divine afterthought.\nJudging by the fashion plates of olden times, in other centuries, the\ngrand-daughters were far superior to the grand-mothers, and the fuss\nthey used to make a hundred years ago over a very good woman showed me\nthat the feminine excellence, so rare then, was more common than it used\nto be. At the beginning of the nineteenth century a woman was considered\nwell educated if she could do a sum in rule of three. Look at the books\nin all departments that are under the arms of the school miss now. I\nbelieve in equal education for men and women to fulfil the destiny of\nthis land.\n\nFor all women who were then entering the battle of life, I saw that the\ntime was coming when they would not only get as much salary as men, but\nfor certain employments they would receive higher wages. It would not\ncome to them through a spirit of gallantry, but through the woman's\nfiner natural taste, greater grace of manner, and keener perceptions.\nFor these virtues she would be worth ten per cent. more to her employer\nthan a man. But she would get it by earning it, not by asking for it.\n\nIn the summer of 1885 I made another trip to Europe. The day I reached\nCharing Cross station in London the exposures of vice in the _Pall Mall\nGazette_ were just issued. The paper had not been out half an hour. Mr.\nStead, the editor, was later put on trial for startling Europe and\nAmerica in his crusade against crime. There were the same conditions in\nAmerica, in Upper Broadway, and other big thoroughfares in New York, by\nnight, as there were in London. I believe the greatest safety against\nvice is newspaper chastisement of dishonour and crime. I urged that some\npaper in America should attack the social evil, as the _Pall Mall\nGazette_ had done. A hundred thousand people, with banners and music,\ngathered in Hyde Park in London, to express their approval of the\nreformation started by Mr. Stead, and there were a million people in\nAmerica who would have backed up the same moral heroism. If my voice\nwere loud enough to be heard from Penobscot to the Rio Grande, I would\ncry out \"Flirtation is damnation.\" The vast majority of those who make\neverlasting shipwreck carry that kind of sail. The pirates of death\nattack that kind of craft.\n\nMy mail bag was a mirror that reflected all sides of the world, and much\nthat it showed me was pitifully sordid and reckless. Most of the letters\nI answered, others I destroyed.\n\nThe following one I saved, for obvious reasons. It was signed, \"One of\nthe Congregation\":\n\n\"Dear Sir,--I do not believe much that you preach, but I am certain that\nyou believe it all. To be a Christian I must believe the Bible. To be\ntruthful, I do not believe it. I go to hear you preach because you\npreach the Bible as I was taught it in my youth, by a father, who, like\nyourself, believed what in the capacity of a preacher he proclaimed. For\nthirty-five years I have been anxious to walk in the path my mother is\ntreading--a simple faith. I have lived to see my children's children,\nand the distance that lies between me and my real estate in the\ngraveyard, cannot be very great. At my age, it would be worse than folly\nto argue, simply to confound or dispute merely for the love of arguing.\nMy steps are already tottering, and I am lost in the wilderness. I pray\nbecause I am afraid not to pray. What can I do that I have not done, so\nthat I can see clearly?\"\n\nAll my sympathies were excited by this letter, because I had been in\nthat quagmire myself. A student of Doctor Witherspoon once came to him\nand said, \"I believe everything is imaginary! I myself am only an\nimaginary being.\" The Doctor said to him, \"Go down and hit your head\nagainst the college door, and if you are imaginary and the door\nimaginary, it won't hurt you.\"\n\nA celebrated theological professor at Princeton was asked this, by a\nsceptic:--\n\n\"You say, train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old\nhe will not depart from it. How do you account for the fact that your\nson is such a dissipated fellow?\"\n\nThe doctor replied, \"The promise is, that when he is old, he will not\ndepart from it. My son is not old enough yet.\" He grew old, and his\nfaith returned. The Rev. Doctor Hall made the statement that he\ndiscovered in the biographies of one hundred clergymen that they all had\nsons who were clergymen, all piously inclined. There is no safe way to\ndiscuss religion, save from the heart; it evaporates when you dare to\nanalyse its sacred element.\n\nI received multitudes of letters written by anxious parents about sons\nwho had just come to the city--letters without end, asking aid for\nworthy individuals and institutions, which I could not meet even if I\nhad an income of $500,000 per annum--letters from men who told me that\nunless I sent them $25 by return mail they would jump into the East\nRiver--letters from people a thousand miles away, saying if they\ncouldn't raise $1,500 to pay off a mortgage they would be sold out, and\nwouldn't I send it to them--letters of good advice, telling me how to\npreach, and the poorer the syntax and the etymology the more insistent\nthe command. Many encouraging letters were a great help to me. Some\nletters of a spiritual beauty and power were magnificent tokens of a\npreacher's work. Most of these letters were lacking in one\nthing--Christian confidence. And yet, what noble examples there were of\nthis quality in the world.\n\nWhat an example was exhibited to all, when, on October 8, 1885, the\norgan at Westminster Abbey uttered its deep notes of mourning, at the\nfuneral of Lord Shaftesbury, in England. It is well to remember such\nnoblemen as he was. The chair at Exeter Hall, where he so often\npresided, should be always associated with him. His last public act, at\n84 years of age, was to go forth in great feebleness and make an earnest\nprotest against the infamies exposed by Mr. Stead in London. In that\ndying speech he called upon Parliament to defend the purity of the city.\nAs far back as 1840, his voice in Parliament rang out against the\noppression of factory workers, and he succeeded in securing better\nlegislation for them. He worked and contributed for the ragged schools\nof England, by which over 200,000 poor children of London were redeemed.\nHe was President of Bible and Missionary Societies, and was for thirty\nyears President of the Young Men's Christian Association. I never\nforgave Lord Macaulay for saying he hoped that the \"praying of Exeter\nHall would soon come to an end.\" On his 80th birthday, a holiday was\ndeclared in honour of Lord Shaftesbury, and vast multitudes kept it.\nFrom the Lord Mayor himself to the girls of the Water Cress and Flower\nMission, all offered him their congratulations. Alfred Tennyson, the\nPoet Laureate, wrote him, \"Allow me to assure you in plain prose, how\ncordially I join with those who honour the Earl of Shaftesbury as a\nfriend of the poor.\" And, how modest was the Earl's reply.\n\nHe said: \"You have heard that which has been said in my honour. Let me\nremark with the deepest sincerity--ascribe it not, I beseech you, to\ncant and hypocrisy--that if these statements are partially true, it must\nbe because power has been given me from above. It was not in me to do\nthese things.\"\n\nHow constantly through my life have I heard the same testimony of the\npower that answers prayer. I believed it, and I said it repeatedly, that\nthe reason American politics had become the most corrupt element of our\nnation was because we had ignored the power of prayer. History\neverywhere confesses its force. The Huguenots took possession of the\nCarolinas in the name of God. William Penn settled Pennsylvania in the\nname of God. The Pilgrim Fathers settled New England in the name of God.\nPreceding the first gun of Bunker Hill, at the voice of prayer, all\nheads uncovered. In the war of 1812 an officer came to General Andrew\nJackson and said, \"There is an unusual noise in the camp; it ought to be\nstopped.\" The General asked what this noise was. He was told it was the\nvoice of prayer.\n\n\"God forbid that prayer and praise should be an unusual noise in the\ncamp,\" said General Jackson. \"You had better go and join them.\"\n\nThere was prayer at Valley Forge, at Monmouth, at Atlanta, at South\nMountain, at Gettysburg. But the infamy of politics was broad and wide,\nand universal. Even the record of Andrew Johnson, our seventeenth\nPresident, was exhumed. He was charged with conspiracy against the\nUnited States Government. Because he came from a border State, where\nloyalty was more difficult than in the Northern States, he was accused\nof making a nefarious attack against our Government. I did not accept\nthese charges. They were freighted with political purpose. I said then,\nin order to prove General Grant a good man, it was not necessary to try\nand prove that Johnson was a bad one. The President from Tennessee left\nno sons to vindicate his name. I never saw President Johnson but once,\nbut I refused to believe these attacks upon him. They were an\nunwarranted persecution of the sacred memory of the dead. No man who has\nbeen eminently useful has escaped being eminently cursed.\n\nAt our local elections in Brooklyn, in the autumn of 1885, three\ncandidates for mayor were nominated. They were all exceptionally good\nmen. Two of them were personal friends of mine, General Catlin and Dr.\nFunk. Catlin had twice been brevetted for gallantry in the Civil War,\nand Dr. Funk was on the prohibition ticket, because he had represented\nprohibition all his life. Mr. Woodward, the third candidate, I did not\nknow, but he was a strict Methodist, and that was recommendation enough.\nBut there were pleasanter matters to think about than politics.\n\nIn November of this year, there appeared, at the Horticultural Hall in\nNew York, a wonderful floral stranger from China--the chrysanthemum.\nThousands of people paid to go and see these constellations of beauty.\nIt was a new plant to us then, and we went mad about it in true American\nfashion. To walk among these flowers was like crossing a corner of\nheaven. It became a mania of the times, almost like the tulip mania of\nHolland in the 17th century. People who had voted that the Chinese must\ngo, voted that the Chinese chrysanthemum could stay. The rose was\nforgotten for the time being, and the violets, and the carnations, and\nthe lily of the valley. In America we were still the children of the\nworld, delighted with everything that was new and beautiful.\n\nIn Europe, the war dance of nations continued. In the twenty-two years\npreceding the year 1820 Christendom had paid ten billions of dollars for\nbattles. The exorbitant taxes of Great Britain and the United States\nwere results of war. There was a great wave of Gospel effort in America\nto counteract the European war fever. It permeated the legislature in\nAlbany. One morning some members of the New York legislature inaugurated\na prayer meeting in the room of the Court of Appeals, and that meeting,\nwhich began with six people, at the fifth session overflowed the room.\nThink of a Gospel Revival in the Albany Legislature! Yet why not just\nsuch meetings at all State Capitals, in this land of the Pilgrim\nFathers, of the Huguenots, of the Dutch reformers, of the Hungarian\nexiles?\n\nOccasionally, we were inspired by the record of honest political\nofficials. My friend Thomas A. Hendricks died when he was Vice-president\nof the United States Government. He was an honest official, and yet he\nwas charged with being a coward, a hypocrite, a traitor. He was a great\nsoul. He withstood all the temptations of Washington in which so many\nmen are lost. I met him first on a lecturing tour in the West. As I\nstepped on to the platform, I said, \"Where is Governor Hendricks?\" With\na warmth and cordiality that came from the character of a man who loved\nall things that were true, he stood up, and instead of shaking hands,\nput both his arms around my shoulders, saying heartily, \"Here I am.\" I\nwent on with my lecture with a certain pleasure in the feeling that we\nunderstood each other. Years after, I met him in his rooms in\nWashington, at the close of the first session as presiding officer of\nthe Senate, and I loved him more and more. Many did not realise his\nbrilliancy, because he had such poise of character, such even methods.\nThe trouble has been, with so many men of great talent in Washington,\nthat they stumble in a mire of dissipation. Mr. Hendricks never got\naboard that railroad train so popular with political aspirants. The Dead\nRiver Grand Trunk Railroad is said to have for its stations Tippleton,\nQuarrelville, Guzzler's Junction, Debauch Siding, Dismal Swamp, Black\nTunnel, Murderer's Gulch, Hangman's Hollow, and the terminal known as\nPerdition.\n\nMr. Hendricks met one as a man ought always to meet men, without any\nairs of superiority, or without any appearance of being bored. A coal\nheaver would get from him as polite a bow as a chief justice. He kept\nhis patience when he was being lied about. Speeches were put in his\nmouth which he never made, interviews were written, the language of\nwhich he never used. The newspapers that had lied about him, when he\nlived, turned hypocrites, and put their pages in mourning rules when he\ndied. There were some men appointed to attend his memorial services in\nIndianapolis on November 30, 1885, whom I advised to stay away, and to\nemploy their hours in reviewing those old campaign speeches, in which\nthey had tried to make a scoundrel out of this man. They were not among\nthose who could make a dead saint of him. Mr. Hendricks was a Christian,\nwhich made him invulnerable to violent attack. For many years he was a\nPresbyterian, afterwards he became associated with the Episcopal Church.\nHis life began as a farmer's boy at Shelbyville, his hands on the\nplough. He was a man who hated show, a man whose counsel in Church\naffairs was often sought. Men go through life, usually, with so many\nunconsidered ideals in its course, so many big moments in their lives\nthat the world has never understood.\n\nI remember I was in one of the western cities when the telegram\nannouncing the death of Cornelius Vanderbilt came, and the appalling\nanxiety on all sides, for two days, was something unique in our national\nhistory. It was an event that proved more than anything in my lifetime\nthe financial convalescence of the nation. When it was found that no\nfinancial crash followed the departure of the wealthiest man in America,\nall sensible people agreed that our recuperating prosperity as a nation\nwas built on a rock. It had been a fictitious state of things before\nthis. It was an event, which, years before, would have closed one half\nof the banks, and suspended hundreds of business firms. The passing of\n$200,000,000 from one hand to another, at an earlier period in our\nhistory would have shaken the continent with panic and disaster.\n\nIn watching where this $200,000,000 went to, we lost sight of the\nmillion dollars bequeathed by Mr. Vanderbilt to charity. Its destiny is\nworth recalling. $100,000 went to the Home and Foreign Missionary\nSociety; $100,000 to a hospital; $100,000 to the Young Men's Christian\nAssociation; $50,000 to the General Theological Seminary; $50,000 for\nBibles and Prayer-Books; $50,000 to the Home for Incurables; $50,000 to\nthe missionary societies for seamen; $50,000 to the Home for\nIntemperates; $50,000 to the Missionary Society of New York; $50,000 to\nthe Museum of Art; $50,000 to the Museum of Natural History; and\n$100,000 to the Moravian Church. While the world at large was curious\nabout the money Mr. Vanderbilt did not give to charity, I celebrate his\nmemory for this one consecrated million.\n\nHe was a railroad king, and they were not popular with the masses in\n1885-6. And yet, the Grand Central Depot in New York and the Union Depot\nin Philadelphia, were the palaces where railroad enterprise admitted the\npublic to the crowning luxury of the age. Men of ordinary means, of\nordinary ability, could not have achieved these things. And yet it was\nnecessary to keep armed men in the cemetery to protect Mr. Vanderbilt's\nremains. This sort of thing had happened before. Winter quarters were\nbuilt near his tomb, for the shelter of a special constabulary. Since\nA.T. Stewart's death, there had been no certainty as to where his\nremains were. Abraham Lincoln's sepulchre was violated. Only a week\nbefore Mr. Vanderbilt's death, the Phelps family vault at Binghamton,\nNew York, was broken into. Pinkerton detectives surrounded Mr.\nVanderbilt's body on Staten Island. Wickedness was abroad in all\ndirections, and there were but fifteen years of the nineteenth century\nleft in which to redeem the past.\n\nIn the summer of 1886, Doctor Pasteur's inoculations against\nhydrophobia, and Doctor Ferron's experiments with cholera, following\nmany years after Doctor Jenner's inoculations against small-pox, were\nonly segments of the circle which promised an ultimate cure for all the\ndiseases flesh is heir to. Miracles were amongst us again. I had much\nmore interest in these medical discoveries than I had in inventions,\nlocomotive or bellicose. We required no inventions to take us faster\nthan the limited express trains. We needed no brighter light than\nEdison's. A new realm was opening for the doctors. Simultaneously, with\nthe gleam of hope for a longer life, there appeared in Brooklyn an\nimpudent demand, made by a combination of men known as the Brewers'\nAssociation. They wanted more room for their beer. The mayor was asked\nto appoint a certain excise commissioner who was in favour of more beer\ngardens than we already had. They wanted to rule the city from their\nbeer kegs. In my opinion, a beer garden is worse than a liquor saloon,\nbecause there were thousands of men and women who would enter a beer\ngarden who would not enter a saloon. The beer gardens merely prepare new\nvictims for the eventual sacrifice of alcoholism. Brooklyn was in danger\nof becoming a city of beer gardens, rather than a city of churches.\n\nOn January 24, 1886, the seventeenth year of my pastorate of the\nBrooklyn Tabernacle was celebrated. It was an hour for practical proof\nto my church that the people of Brooklyn approved of our work. By the\nnumber of pews taken, and by the amount of premiums paid in, I told them\nthey would decide whether we were to stand still, to go backward, or to\ngo ahead. We were, at this time, unable to accommodate the audiences\nthat attended both Sabbath services. The lighting, the warming, the\nartistic equipment, all the immense expenses of the church, required a\nsmall fortune to maintain them. We had more friends than the Tabernacle\nhad ever had before. At no time during my seventeen years' residence in\nBrooklyn had there been so much religious prosperity there. The\nmemberships of all churches were advancing. It was a gratifying year in\nthe progress of the Gospel in Brooklyn. It had been achieved by constant\nfighting, under the spur of sound yet inspired convictions. How close\nthe events of secular prominence were to the religious spirit, some of\nthe ministers in Brooklyn had managed to impress upon the people. It was\na course that I pursued almost from my first pastoral call, for I firmly\nbelieved that no event in the world was ever conceived that did not in\nsome degree symbolise the purpose of human salvation.\n\nWhen Mr. Parnell returned to England, I expected, from what I had seen\nand what I knew of him, that his indomitable force would accomplish a\ncrisis for the cause of Ireland. My opinion always was that England and\nIreland would each be better without the other. Mr. Parnell's triumph on\nhis return in January, 1886, seemed complete. He discharged the Cabinet\nin England, as he had discharged a previous Cabinet, and he had much to\ndo with the appointment of their successors. I did not expect that he\nwould hold the sceptre, but it was clear that he was holding it then\nlike a true king of Ireland.\n\nThere was a storm came upon the giant cedars of American life about this\ntime, which spread disaster upon our national strength. It was a storm\nthat prostrated the Cedars of Lebanon.\n\nSecretary Frelinghuysen, Vice-president Hendricks, ex-Governor Seymour,\nGeneral Hancock, and John B. Gough were the victims. It was a cataclysm\nof fatality that impressed its sadness on the nation. The three\nmightiest agencies for public benefit are the printing press, the\npulpit, and the platform. The decease of John B. Gough left the\nplatforms of America without any orator as great as he had been. For\nthirty-five years his theme was temperance, and he died when the fight\nagainst liquor was hottest. He had a rare gift as a speaker. His\ninfluence with an audience was unlike that of any other of his\ncontemporaries. He shortened the distance between a smile and a tear in\noratory. He was one of the first, if not the first, American speaker who\nintroduced dramatic skill in his speeches. He ransacked and taxed all\nthe realm of wit and drama for his work. His was a magic from the heart.\nDramatic power had so often been used for the degradation of society\nthat speakers heretofore had assumed a strict reserve toward it. The\ntheatre had claimed the drama, and the platform had ignored it. But Mr.\nGough, in his great work of reform and relief, encouraged the\ndisheartened, lifted the fallen, adopting the elements of drama in his\nappeals. He called for laughter from an audience, and it came; or, if he\ncalled for tears, they came as gently as the dew upon a meadow's grass\nat dawn. Mr. Gough was the pioneer in platform effectiveness, the first\norator to study the alchemy of human emotions, that he might stir them\nfirst, and mix them as he judged wisely. So many people spoke of the\ndrama as though it was something built up outside of ourselves, as if it\nwere necessary for us to attune our hearts to correspond with the human\ninventions of the dramatists. The drama, if it be true drama, is an echo\nfrom something divinely implanted. While some conscienceless people\ntake this dramatic element and prostitute it in low play-houses, John B.\nGough raised it to the glorious uses of setting forth the hideousness of\nvice and the splendour of virtue in the salvation of multitudes of\ninebriates. The dramatic poets of Europe have merely dramatised what was\nin the world's heart; Mr. Gough interpreted the more sacred dramatic\nelements of the human heart. He abolished the old way of doing things on\nthe platform, the didactic and the humdrum. He harnessed the dramatic\nelement to religion. He lighted new fires of divine passion in our\npulpits.\n\nThe new confidence that this wonderful Cedar of Lebanon put into the\nwork of contemporary Christian labourers in the vineyard of sacred\nmeaning is our eternal inheritance of his spirit. He left us his\nconfidence.\n\nWhen you destroy the confidence of man in man, you destroy society. The\nprevailing idea in American life was of a different character. National\nand civic affairs were full of plans to pull down, to make room for new\nbuilders. That was the trouble. There were more builders than there was\nspace or need to build. A little repairing of old standards would have\nbeen better than tearing those we still remembered to pieces, merely to\ngive others something to do.\n\nAll this led to the betrayal of man by man--to bribery. It was not of\nmuch use for the pulpit to point it out. Men adopted bribery as a means\nto business activity. It was of no use to recall the brilliant moments\nof character in history, men would not read them. Their ancestry was a\nback number, the deeds of their ancestors mere old-fashioned narrowness\nof business. What if a member of the American Congress, Joseph Reed,\nduring the American Revolution did refuse the 10,000 guineas offered by\nthe foreign commissioners to betray the colonies? What if he did say\n\"Gentlemen, I am a very poor man, but tell your King he is not rich\nenough to buy me\"? The more fool he, not to appreciate his\nopportunities, not to take advantage of the momentary enterprise of his\nbetters! A bribe offered became a compliment, and a bribe negotiated was\na good day's work. I had not much faith in the people who went about\nbragging how much they could get if they sold out. I refused to believe\nthe sentiment of men who declared that every man had his price.\n\nOld-fashioned honesty was not the cure either, because old-fashioned\nhonesty, according to history, was not wholly disinterested. There never\nwas a monopoly of righteousness in the world, though there was a coin of\nfair exchange between men who were intelligent enough to perceive its\nvalues, in which there was no alloy of bribery. Bribery was written,\nhowever, all over the first chapters of English, Irish, French, German,\nand American politics; but it was high time that, in America, we had a\nCourt House or a City Hall, or a jail, or a post office, or a railroad,\nthat did not involve a political job. At some time in their lives, every\nman and woman may be tempted to do wrong for compensation. It may be a\nbribe of position that is offered instead of money; but it was easy to\nforesee, in 1886, that there was a time coming when the most secret\ntransaction of private and public life would come up for public\nscrutiny. Those of us who gave this warning were under suspicion of\nbeing harmless lunatics.\n\nNecessarily, the dishonest transactions of the bosses led to discontent\namong the labouring classes, and a railroad strike came, and went, in\nthe winter of 1886. Its successful adjustment was a credit to capital\nand labour, to our police competency, and to general municipal\ncommon-sense. In Chicago and St. Louis, this strike lasted several days;\nin Brooklyn, it was settled in a few hours. The deliverance left us\nfacing the problem whether the differences between capital and labour in\nAmerica would ever be settled. I was convinced that it could never be\naccomplished by the law of supply and demand, although we were\nconstantly told so. It was a law that had done nothing to settle the\nfeuds of past ages. The fact was that supply and demand had gone into\npartnership, proposing to swindle the earth. It is a diabolic law which\nwill have to stand aside for a greater law of love, of co-operation, and\nof kindness. The establishment of a labour exchange, in Brooklyn in\n1886, where labourers and capitalists could meet and prepare their\nplans, was a step in that direction.\n\nI said to a very wealthy man, who employed thousands of men in his\nestablishments in different cities:\n\n\"Have you had many strikes?\"\n\n\"Never had a strike; I never will have one,\" he said.\n\n\"How do you avoid them?\" I asked.\n\n\"When prices go up or down, I call my men together in all my\nestablishments. In ease of increased prosperity I range them around me\nin the warehouses at the noon hour, and I say, 'Boys, I am making money,\nmore than usual, and I feel that you ought to share my success; I shall\nadd five, or ten, or twenty per cent. to your wages.' Times change. I\nmust sell my goods at a low price, or not sell them at all. Then I say\nto them, 'Boys, I am losing money, and I must either stop altogether or\nrun on half-time, or do with less hands. I thought I would call you\ntogether and ask your advice.' There may be a halt for a minute or two,\nand then one of the men will step up and say, 'Boss, you have been good\nto us; we have got to sympathise with you. I don't know how the others\nfeel, but I propose we take off 20 per cent. from our wages, and when\ntimes get better, you can raise us,' and the rest agree.\"\n\nThat was the law of kindness.\n\nMany of the best friends I had were American capitalists, and I said to\nthem always, \"You share with your employees in your prosperity, and they\nwill share with you in your adversity.\"\n\nThe rich man of America was not in need of conversion, for, in 1886, he\nhad not become a monopolist as yet. He had accumulated fortunes by\nindustry and hard work, and he was an energetic builder of national\nenterprise and civic pride, but his coffers were being drained by an\nincreasing social extravagance that was beyond the requirements of\nhappiness of home.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TENTH MILESTONE\n\n1886\n\n\nSociety life in the big cities of America in 1886 had become a strange\nnightmare of extravagance and late hours. It was developing a queer race\nof people. Temporarily, the Lenten season stopped the rustle and flash\nof toilettes, chained the dancers, and put away the tempting chalice of\nsocial excitement. When Lent came in the society of the big cities of\nAmerica was an exhausted multitude. It seemed to me as though two or\nthree winters of germans and cotillions would be enough to ruin the best\nof health. The victims of these strange exhaustions were countless. No\nman or woman could endure the wear and tear of social life in America\nwithout sickness and depletion of health. The demands were at war with\nthe natural laws of the human race.\n\nEven the hour set for the average assembling of a \"society event\" in\n1886 was an outrage. Once it was eight o'clock at night, soon it was\nadjourned to nine-thirty, and then to ten, and there were threats that\nit would soon be eleven. A gentleman wrote me this way for advice about\nhis social burden:\n\n\"What shall I do? We have many friends, and I am invited out\nperpetually. I am on a salary in a large business house in New York. I\nam obliged to arise in the morning at seven o'clock, but I cannot get\nhome from those parties till one in the morning. The late supper and the\nexcitement leave me sleepless. I must either give up society or give up\nbusiness, which is my living. My wife is not willing that I should give\nup society, because she is very popular. My health is breaking down.\nWhat shall I do?\"\n\nIt was not the idle class that wasted their nights at these parties; it\nwas the business men dragged into the fashions and foibles of the idle,\nwhich made that strange and unique thing we call society in America.\n\nI should have replied to that man that his wife was a fool. If she were\nwilling to sacrifice his health, and with it her support, for the\ngreeting and applause of these midnight functions, I pitied him. Let him\nlose his health, his business, and his home, and no one would want to\ninvite him anywhere. All the diamond-backed terrapins at fifty dollars a\ndozen which he might be invited to enjoy after that would do him no\nharm. Society would drop him so suddenly that it would knock the breath\nout of him. The recipe for a man in this predicament, a man tired of\nlife, and who desired to get out of it without the reputation of a\nsuicide, was very simple. He only had to take chicken salad regularly at\nmidnight, in large quantities, and to wash it down with bumpers of wine,\nreaching his pillow about 2 a.m. If the third winter of this did not\nbring his obituary, it would be because that man was proof against that\nwhich had slain a host larger than any other that fell on any\nbattle-field of the ages. The Scandinavian warriors believed that in the\nnext world they would sit in the Hall of Odin, and drink wine from the\nskulls of their enemies. But society, by its requirements of late hours\nand conviviality, demanded that a man should drink out of his own skull,\nhaving rendered it brainless first. I had great admiration for the\nsuavities and graces of life, but it is beyond any human capacity to\nendure what society imposes upon many in America. Drinking other\npeople's health to the disadvantage of one's own health is a poor\ncourtesy at best. Our entertainments grew more and more extravagant,\nmore and more demoralising. I wondered if our society was not swinging\naround to become akin to the worst days of Roman society. The princely\nbanquet-rooms of the Romans had revolving ceilings representing the\nfirmament; fictitious clouds rained perfumed essences upon the guests,\nwho were seated on gold benches, at tables made of ivory and\ntortoise-shell. Each course of food, as it was brought into the banquet\nroom, was preceded by flutes and trumpets. There was no wise man or\nwoman to stand up from the elaborate banquet tables of American society\nat this time and cry \"Halt!\" It might have been done in Washington, or\nin New York, or in Brooklyn, but it was not.\n\nThe way American society was moving in 1886 was the way to death. The\ngreat majority, the major key in the weird symphony of American life,\nwas not of society.\n\nWe had no masses really, although we borrowed the term from Europe and\nused it busily to describe our working people, who were massive enough\nas a body of men, but they were not the masses. Neither were they the\nmob, which was a term some were fond of using in describing the\ndestruction of property on railroads in the spring of 1886. The\nlabouring men had nothing to do with these injuries. They were done by\nthe desperadoes who lurked in all big cities. I made a Western trip\nduring this strike, and I found the labouring men quiet, peaceful, but\nidle. The depots were filled with them, the streets were filled with\nthem, but they were in suspense, and it lasted twenty-five days. Then\nfollowed the darkness and squalor--less bread, less comfort, less\ncivilisation of heart and mind. It was hard on the women and children.\nSenator Manderson, the son of my old friend in Philadelphia, introduced\na bill into the United States Senate for the arbitration of strikes. It\nproposed a national board of mediation between capital and labour.\n\nJay Gould was the most abused of men just then. He was denounced by both\ncontestants in this American conflict most uselessly. The knights of\nLabour came in for an equal amount of abuse. We were excited and could\nnot reason. The men had just as much right to band together for mutual\nbenefit as Jay Gould had a right to get rich. It was believed by many\nthat Mr. Gould made his fortune out of the labouring classes. Mr. Gould\nmade it out of the capitalists. His regular diet was a capitalist per\ndiem, not a poor man--capitalist stewed, broiled, roasted, panned,\nfricaseed, devilled, on the half shell. He was personally, as I knew\nhim, a man of such kindness that he would not hurt a fly, but he played\nten pins on Wall Street. A great many adventurers went there to play\nwith him, and if their ball rolled down the side of the financial alley\nwhile he made a ten strike or two or three spares, the fellows who were\nbeaten howled. That was about all there really was in the denunciation\nof Jay Gould.\n\nI couldn't help thinking sometimes, when the United States seemed to\nchange its smile of prosperity to a sudden smile of anger or petulance,\nthat we were a spoiled nation, too much pampered by divine blessings.\nIf we had not been our own rulers, but had been ruled--what would\nAmerica have been then? We were like Ireland crying for liberty and\nabusing liberty the more we got of it.\n\nMr. Gladstone's policy of Home Rule for Ireland, announced in April,\n1886, proposed an Irish Parliament and the Viceroy. It should remain,\nhowever, a part of England. I fully believed then that Ireland would\nhave Home Rule some day, and in another century I believed that Ireland\nwould stand to England as the United States stands to England, a\nfriendly and neighbouring power. I believed that Ireland would some day\nwrite her own Declaration of Independence. Liberty, the fundamental\ninstinct of the most primitive living thing, would be the world's\neverlasting conflict.\n\nOur exclusion of the Chinese, which came up in the spring of 1886, when\nan Ambassador from China was roughly handled in San Francisco, was a\ndisgrace to our own instincts of liberty. A great many people did not\nwant them because they did not like the way they dressed. They objected\nto the Chinaman's queue. George Washington wore one, so did Benjamin\nFranklin and John Hancock. The Chinese dress was not worse than some\nAmerican clothes I have seen. Some may remember the crinoline\nmonstrosities of '65, as I do--the coal-scuttle bonnets, the silver\nknee-buckles! The headgear of the fair sex has never ceased to be a\nmystery and a shock during all my lifetime. I remember being asked by a\nlady-reporter in Brooklyn if I thought ladies should remove their hats\nin the theatre, and I told her to tell them to keep them on, because in\nobstructing the stage they were accomplishing something worth while. Any\nfine afternoon the spring fashions of 1886, displayed in Madison Square\nbetween two and four o'clock, were absurdities of costume that eclipsed\nanything then worn by the Chinese.\n\nThe Joss House of the Chinese was entitled to as much respect in the\nUnited States, under the constitution, as the Roman Catholic church, or\nthe Quaker Meeting house, or any other religious temple. A new path was\nmade for the Chinese into America via Mexico, when 600,000 were to be\nimported for work on Mexican territory. In the discussion it aroused it\nwas urged that Mexico ought to be blocked because the Chinese would not\nspend their money in America. In one year, in San Francisco, the Chinese\npaid $2,400,000 in rent for residences and warehouses. Our higher\ncivilisation was already threatened with that style of man who spends\nthree times more money than he makes, and yet we did not want the\nthrifty unassuming religious Chinaman to counteract our mania for\nextravagance. This entire agitation emanated from corrupt politics. The\nRepublican and Democratic parties both wanted the electoral votes of\nCalifornia in the forthcoming Presidential election, and, in order to\nget that vote, it was necessary to oppose the Chinese. Whenever these\nAsiatic men obtain equal suffrage in America the Republican party will\nfondle them, and the Democrats will try to prove that they always had a\ndeep affection for them, and some of the political bosses will go around\nwith an opium pipe sticking out of their pockets and their hair coiled\ninto a suggestion of a queue.\n\nThe ship of state was in an awful mess. No sooner was the good man in\npower than politics struggled to pull him down to make room for the\nknaves. When Thomas Jefferson was inaugurated, the _Sentinel_ of Boston\nwrote the obituary of the American nation. I quote it as a literary\nscrap of the past:\n\n\"MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION--expired yesterday, regretted by all good men,\nTHE FEDERAL ADMINISTRATION OF THE GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED STATES, aged\n12 years. This Monumental Inscription to the virtues and the services of\nthe deceased is raised by the Sentinel of Boston.\"\n\nIt might have been a recent editorial. Van Buren was always cartooned as\na fox or a rat. Horace Greeley told me once that he had not had a sound\nsleep for fifteen years, and he was finally put to death by American\npolitics. The cartoons of Mr. Blaine and Mr. Cleveland during their\nelection battle, as compared to those of fifty years before, were\nseraphic as the themes of Raphael. It was not necessary to go so far\nback for precedent. The game had not changed. The building of our new\nRaymond Street jail in Brooklyn, in 1886, was a game which the\npoliticians played, called \"money, money, who has got the money?\"\nSuddenly there was an arraignment in the courts. Mr. Jaehne was\nincarcerated in Sing Sing for bribery. Twenty-five New York aldermen\nwere accused. Nineteen of them were saloon keepers. There was a fearful\nindifference to the illiteracy of our leaders in 1886. It threatened the\nnational intelligence of the future.\n\nIn the rhapsody of May, however, in the resurrection of the superlative\nbeauties of spring, we forgot our human deficiencies. In the first week\nof lilacs, the Americanised flower of Persia, we aspired to the breadth\nand height and the heaven of our gardens. The generous lilac, like a\ngreat purple sea of loveliness, swept over us in the full tide of\nspring. It was the forerunner of joy; joy of fish in the brooks, of\ninsects in the air, of cattle in the fields, of wings to the sky.\nSunshine, shaken from the sacred robes of God! Spring, the spiritual\nessence of heaven and physical beauty come to earth in many forms--in\nthe rose, in the hawthorn white and scarlet, in the passion flower. In\nthis season of transition we hear the murmurings of heaven. There were\nspring poets in 1886, as there had been in all ages.\n\nLove and marriage came over the country like a divine opiate, inspired,\nI believe, by that love story in the White House, which culminated on\nJune 2, 1886, in the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland. Never in my\nknowledge were there so many weddings all over the United States as\nduring the week when this official wedding took place in the White\nHouse. The representatives of the foreign Governments in Washington were\nnot invited to Mr. Cleveland's wedding. We all hoped that they would not\nmake such fools of themselves as to protest--but they did. They were\ndispleased at the President's omission to invite them. It was always a\nwish of Mr. Cleveland's to separate the happiness of his private life\nfrom that of his public career, so as to protect Mrs. Cleveland from the\nglare to which he himself was exposed. His wedding was an intimate,\nprivate matter to him, and if there is any time in a man's life when he\nought to do as he pleases it is when he gets married. It was a\nremarkable wedding in some respects, remarkable for its love story, for\nits distinguished character, its American privacy, its independent\nspirit. The whole country was rapturously happy over it. The foreign\nministers who growled might have benefited by the example of Americanism\nin the affair. Even the reporters, none of whom were invited, were happy\nover it, and gave a more vivid account of the joyous scene than they\ncould have given had they been present.\n\nThe difference in the ages of the President and his beautiful bride was\nwidely discussed. Into the garland of bridal roses let no one ever twist\na sprig of night-shade. If 49 would marry 22, if summer is fascinated\nwith spring, whose business is it but their own? Both May and August are\nold enough to take care of themselves, and their marriage is the most\nnoteworthy moment of their too short season of life. Some day her voice\nis silenced, and the end of the world has come for him--the morning\ndead, the night dead, the air dead, the world dead. For his sake, for\nher sake, do not spoil their radiance with an impious regret. They will\nendure the thorns of life when they are stronger in each other's love.\n\nThat June wedding at the White House was the nucleus of happiness, from\nwhich grew a great wave of matrimony. The speed of God's will was\nincreasing in America. Most of the things managed by divine instinct are\ncharacterised by speed--rapid currents, swift lightnings, swift coming\nand going of lives. In the old-fashioned days a man got a notion that\nthere was sanctity in tardiness. It was a great mistake. In America we\nhad arrived at that state of mind when we wanted everything fast--first\nand fast. Fast horses, fast boats, fast runners are all good things for\nthe human race.\n\nThe great yacht races of September 7, 1886, in which the \"May Flower\"\ndistanced the \"Galatea\" by two miles and a half, was a spanking race.\nOur sporting blood was roused to fighting pitch, and we became more\nactive in every way of outdoor sports. Lawn tennis tournaments were\nepidemic all over the country. There were good and bad effects from all\nof them. Those romping sports developed a much finer physical condition\nin our American women. Lawn tennis and croquet were hardening and\nbeautifying the race. From the English and German women we adopted\nathletics for our own women. Our girls began to travel more frequently\nin Europe. It looked as though many of the young ladies who prided\nthemselves upon their bewitching languors and fashionable dreaminess,\nwould be neglected by young men in favour of the more athletic types. It\nhad been decided, in the social channels of our life, that doll babies\nwere not of much use in the struggle, that women must have the capacity\nand the strength to sweep out a room without fainting; that to make an\neatable loaf of bread was more important than the satin cheek or the\ncolour of hair that one strong fever could uproot. I was accused of\nbeing ambitious that Americans should have a race of Amazons. I was not.\nI did want them to have bodies to fit their great souls. What I did wish\nto avoid, in this natural transition, was a misdirected use of its\nadvantages. There is dissipation in outdoor life, as well as indoors,\nand this was to be deplored. I wanted everything American to come out\nahead.\n\nIn science we were still far behind. The Charleston earthquake in\nSeptember, 1886, proved this. Our philosophers were disgusted that the\nministers and churches down there devoted their time to praying and\nmoralising about the earthquake, when only natural phenomena were the\ncause. Science had no information or comfort to give, however. The only\nthing the scientist did was to predict a great tidal wave which would\ncome and destroy all that was left of the previous calamity. Science\nlied again. The tidal wave did not come; the September rains stopped,\nand Charleston began to rebuild. That is one of the wonderful things\nabout America; we are not only able to restore our damages, but we have\na mania for rebuilding. Our chief fault lies in the fact that we\nrebuild for profit rather than for beauty of character or moral\nstrength.\n\nThere had been a time during my pastorate when Brooklyn promised to be\nthe greatest watering place in America. We were in a fair way of\nbecoming the summer capital of the United States. It was destroyed by\nthe loafers and the dissoluteness of Coney Island. In the autumn of\n1886, Brooklyn was more indignant than I had ever seen it before, and I\nknew it intimately for a quarter of a century. Our trade was damaged,\nour residences were depreciated, because the gamblers and liquor dealers\nwere in power. Part of the summer people were too busy looking for a sea\nserpent reported to be in the East River or up the Hudson to observe\nthat a Dragon of Evil was twining about the neck and waist and body of\nthe two great cities by the sea.\n\nIn contrast to all this political treachery in the North there developed\na peculiar symbol of political sincerity in Tennesee. Two brothers,\nRobert and Alfred Taylor, were running for Governor of that State--one\non the Republican and the other on the Democratic ticket. At night they\noccupied the same room together. On the same platform they uttered\nsentiments directly opposite in meaning. And yet, Robert said to a crowd\nabout to hoot his brother Alfred, \"When you insult my brother you insult\nme.\" This was a symbol of political decency that we needed. One of the\ngreat wants of the world, however, was a better example in \"high life.\"\nWe were shocked by the moral downfall of Sir Charles Dilke in England,\nby the dissolute conduct of an American official in Mexico, by the\ndissipations of a Senator who attempted to address the United States\nSenate in a state of intoxication.\n\nMr. Cleveland's frequent exercise of the President's right of veto was\na hopeful policy in national affairs. The habit of voting away thousands\nof dollars of other people's money in Congress needed a check. The\npopular means of accomplishing this out of the national treasury was in\nbills introduced by Congressmen for public buildings. Each Congressman\nwanted to favour the other. The President's veto was the only cure. This\nprodigality of the National Legislature grew out of an enormous surplus\nin the Treasury. It was too great a temptation to the law-makers.\n$70,000,000 in a pile added to a reserve of $100,000,000 was an infamous\nlure. I urged that this money should be turned back to the people to\nwhom it belonged. The Government had no more right to it than I had to\nfive dollars of overpay, and yet, by over-taxation, the Government had\ndone the same sort of thing. This money did not belong to the\nGovernment, but to the people from whom they had taken it. From private\nsources in Washington I learned that officials were overwhelmed with\ndemands for pensions from first-class loafers who had never been of any\nservice to their country before or since the war. They were too lazy or\ncranky to work for themselves. Grover Cleveland vetoed them by the\nhundred. We needed the veto power in America as much as the Roman\nGovernment had required it in their tribunes. Poland had recognised it.\nThe Kings of Norway, Sweden, and the Netherlands had used it. With the\nexception of two states in the Union, all the American Governors had the\nprivilege. Because a railroad company buys up a majority of the\nlegislature there is no reason why a Governor should sign the charter.\nThere was no reason why the President should make appointments upon\nindiscriminate claims because the ante-room of the White House was\nfilled with applicants, as they were in Cleveland's first\nadministration. My sympathies were with the grand army men against these\npretenders.\n\nWhat a waste of money it seemed to me there was in keeping up useless\nAmerican embassies abroad. They had been established when it took six\nweeks to go to Liverpool and six months to China, so that it was\nnecessary to have representation at the foreign courts. As far back as\n1866 it was only half an hour from Washington to London, to Berlin, to\nMadrid. I have seen no crisis in any of these foreign cities which made\nour ambassadors a necessity there. International business could be\nmanaged by the State Department. The foreign embassy was merely a good\nexcuse to get rid of some competent rival for the Presidency. The cable\nwas enough Minister Plenipotentiary for the United States, and always\nshould be. I regarded it as humiliating to the constitution of the\nUnited States that we should be complimenting foreign despotism in this\nway.\n\nThe war rage of Europe was destined to make a market for our bread stuff\nin 1886, but at the cost of further suffering and disaster. I have no\nsentimentality about the conflicts of life, because the Bible is a\nhistory of battles and hand to hand struggles, but war is no longer\nneeded in the world. War is a system of political greed where men are\nhired at starvation wages to kill each other. Could there be anything\nmore savage? It is the inoffensive who are killed, while the principals\nin the quarrel sit snugly at home on throne chairs.\n\nA private letter, I think it was, written during the Crimean war by a\nsailor to his wife, describing his sensations after having killed a man\nfor the first time, is a unique demonstration of the psychology of the\nsoldier's fate.\n\nThe letter said:--\n\n\"We were ordered to fire, and I took steady aim and fired on my man at a\ndistance of sixty yards. He dropped like a stone, at the same instant a\nbroadside from the ship scattered among the trees, and the enemy\nvanished, we could scarcely tell how. I felt as though I must go up to\nthe man I had fired upon to see if he were dead or alive. I found him\nquite still, and I was more afraid of him when I saw him lying so than\nwhen he stood facing me a few minutes before. It is a strange feeling\nthat comes over you all at once when you have killed a man. He had\nunfastened his jacket, and was pressing his hand against his chest where\nthe wound was. He breathed hard, and the blood poured from the wound and\nhis mouth at every breath. His face was white as death, and his eyes\nlooked big and bright as he turned them staring up at me. I shall never\nforget it. He was a fine young fellow, not over five and twenty. I knelt\nbeside him and I felt as though my heart would burst. He had an English\nface and did not look like my enemy. If my life could have saved his I\nwould have given it. I held his head on my knee and he tried to speak,\nbut his voice was gone. I could not understand a word that he said. I am\nnot ashamed to say that I was worse than he, for he never shed a tear\nand I did. I was wondering how I could bear to leave him to die alone,\nwhen he had some sort of convulsions, then his head rolled over and with\na sigh he was gone. I laid his head gently on the grass and left him. It\nseemed so strange when I looked at him for the last time. I somehow\nthought of everything I had ever read about the Turks and the Russians,\nand the rest of them, but all that seemed so far off, and the dead man\nso near.\"\n\nThis was the secret tragedy of the common fraternity of manhood driven\nby custom into a sham battle of death. The European war of 1886 was a\nconflict of Slav and Teuton. France will never forgive Germany for\ntaking Alsace and Lorraine. It was a surrender to Germany of what in the\nUnited States would be equal to the surrender of Philadelphia and\nBoston, with vast harvest fields in addition. France wanted to blot out\nSedan. England desired to keep out of the fight upon a naval report that\nshe was unprepared for war. The Danes were ready for insurrection\nagainst their own Government. Only 3,000 miles of Atlantic Ocean and\ngreat wisdom of Washington kept us out of the fight. The world's\nstatesmanship at this time was the greatest it had ever known. There was\nenough of it in St. Petersburg, Berlin, Rome, Paris, and London to have\nachieved a great progress for peace by arbitration and treaty, but there\nwas no precedent by which to judge the effect of such a plan. The\nnations had never before had such vast populations to change into\narmies. The temptations of war were irresistible.\n\nIn America, remotely luxurious in our own prosperity from the rest of\nthe world, we became self-absorbed. The fashions, designed and inspired\nin Europe, became the chief element of attraction among the ladies. It\nwas particularly noticeable in the autumn of 1886 for the brilliancy and\ngrandeur of bird feathers. The taxidermist's art was adapted to women's\ngowns and hats to a degree that amazed the country. A precious group of\nFrench actresses, some of them divorced two or three times, with a\nsystem of morals entirely independent of the ten commandments, were\nresponsible for this outbreak of bird millinery in America. From one\nvillage alone 70,000 birds were sent to New York for feminine adornment.\n\nThe whole sky full of birds was swept into the millinery shops. A three\nmonths foraging trip in South Carolina furnished 11,000 birds for the\nmarket of feathers. One sportsman supplied 10,000 aigrettes. The music\nof the heavens was being destroyed. Paris was supplied by contracts made\nin New York. In one month a million bobolinks were killed near\nPhiladelphia. Species of birds became extinct. In February of this year\nI saw in one establishment 2,000,000 bird skins. One auction room alone,\nin three months, sold 3,000,000 East India bird skins, and 1,000,000\nWest India and Brazilian feathers.\n\nA newspaper description of a lady's hat in 1886 was to me savage in the\nextreme. I quote one of many:\n\n\"She had a whole nest of sparkling, scintillating birds in her hat,\nwhich would have puzzled an ornithologist to classify.\"\n\nHere is another one I quote:\n\n\"Her gown of unrelieved black was looped up with blackbirds and a winged\ncreature so dusky that it could have been intended for nothing but a\ncrow reposed among the strands of her hair.\"\n\nPublic sentiment in American womanhood eventually rescued the songsters\nof the world--in part, at any rate. The heavenly orchestra, with its\nexquisite prelude of dawn and its tremulous evensong, was spared.\n\nMany years ago Thomas Carlyle described us as \"forty million Americans,\nmostly fools.\" He declared we would flounder on the ballot-box, and that\nthe right of suffrage would be the ruin of this Government. The \"forty\nmillion of fools\" had done tolerably well for the small amount of brain\nCarlyle permitted them.\n\nBetter and better did America become to me as the years went by. I never\nwanted to live anywhere else. Many believed that Christ was about to\nreturn to His reign on earth, and I felt confident that if such a divine\ndescent could be, it would come from American skies. I did not believe\nthat Christ would descend from European skies, amidst alien thrones. I\nforesaw the time when the Democracy of Americans would be lifted so that\nthe President's chair could be set aside as a relic; when penitentiaries\nwould be broken-down ruins; almshouses forsaken, because all would be\nrich, and hospitals abandoned, because all would be well.\n\nIf Christ were really coming, as many believed, the moment of earthly\nparadise was at hand.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ELEVENTH MILESTONE\n\n1886-1887\n\n\nThe balance of power in Brooklyn and New York during my lifetime had\nalways been with the pulpit. I was in my fifty-fourth year, and had\nshared honours with the most devout and fearless ministers of the Gospel\nso long that when two monster receptions were proposed, in celebration\nof the services of Rev. Henry Ward Beecher and Rev. R.S. Storrs, D.D., I\nbecame almost wickedly proud of the privileges of my associations. These\ntwo eminent men were in the seventies. Dr. Storrs had been installed\npastor of the Church of Pilgrims in 1846; Mr. Beecher pastor of Plymouth\nChurch in 1847. They were both stalwart in body then, both New\nEnglanders, both Congregationalists, mighty men, genial as a morning in\nJune. Both world-renowned, but different. Different in stature, in\ntemperament, in theology. They had reached the fortieth year of pastoral\nservice. No movement for the welfare of Brooklyn in all these years was\nwithout the benediction of their names.\n\nThe pulpit had accomplished wonders. In Brooklyn alone look at the\npulpit-builders. There were Rev. George W. Bethune of the Dutch Reformed\nChurch, Rev. Dr. Samuel H. Cox, Rev. W. Ichabod Spencer, Rev. Dr. Samuel\nThayer Speer of the Presbyterian Church, Dr. John Summerfield and Dr.\nKennedy of the Methodist Church, Rev. Dr. Stone and Rev. Dr. Vinton of\nthe Episcopal Church--all denominations pouring their elements of divine\nsplendour upon the community. Who can estimate the power which emanated\nfrom the pulpits of Dr. McElroy, or Dr. DeWitt, or Dr. Spring, or Dr.\nKrebs? Their work will go on in New York though their churches be\ndemolished. Large-hearted men were these pulpit apostles, apart from the\nclerical obligations of their denominations. No proverb in the world is\nso abused as the one which declares that the children of ministers never\nturn out well. They hold the highest places in the nation. Grover\nCleveland was the son of a Presbyterian clergyman, Governor Pattison of\nPennsylvania, Governor Taylor of Tennessee, were sons of Methodist\npreachers. In congressional and legislative halls they are scattered\neverywhere.\n\nOf all the metaphysical discourses that Mr. Beecher delivered, none are\nso well remembered as those giving his illustrations of life, his\nanecdotes. Much of his pulpit utterance was devoted to telling what\nthings were like. So the Sermon on the Mount was written, full of\nsimilitudes. Like a man who built his house on a rock, like a candle in\na candle-stick, like a hen gathering her chickens under her wing, like a\nnet, like salt, like a city on a hill. And you hear the song birds, and\nyou smell the flowers. Mr. Beecher's grandest effects were wrought by\nhis illustrations, and he ransacked the universe for them. We need in\nour pulpits just such irresistible illustrations, just such holy\nvivacity. His was a victory of similitudes.\n\nTowards the end of November, 1886, one of the most distinguished sons of\na Baptist preacher, Chester A. Arthur, died. He had arisen to the\nhighest point of national honour, and preserved the simplicities of true\ncharacter. When I was lecturing in Lexington, Kentucky, one summer, I\nremember with what cordiality he accosted me in a crowd.\n\n\"Are you here?\" he said; \"why, it makes me feel very much at home.\"\n\nMr. Arthur aged fifteen years in the brief span of his administration.\nHe was very tired. Almost his last words were, \"Life is not worth\nliving.\" Our public men need sympathy, not criticism. Macaulay, after\nall his brilliant career in Parliament, after being world-renowned among\nall who could admire fine writing, wrote this:\n\n\"Every friendship which a man may have becomes precarious as soon as he\nengages in politics.\"\n\nPolitical life is a graveyard of broken hearts. Daniel Webster died of a\nbroken heart at Marshfield. Under the highest monument in Kentucky lies\nHenry Clay, dead of a broken heart. So died Henry Wilson, at Natick,\nMass.; William H. Seward at Auburn, N.Y.; Salmon P. Chase, in\nCincinnati. So died Chester A. Arthur, honoured, but worried.\n\nThe election of Abram S. Hewitt as mayor of New York in 1886 restored\nthe confidence of the best people. Behind him was a record absolutely\nbeyond criticism, before him a great Christian opportunity. We made the\nmistake, however, of ignoring the great influence upon our civic\nprosperity of the business impulse of the West. We in New York and\nBrooklyn were a self-satisfied community, unmindful of our dependence\nupon the rest of the American continent. My Western trips were my\nrecreation. An occasional lecture tour accomplished for me what\nyachting or baseball does for others. My congregation understood this,\nand never complained of my absence. They realised that all things for me\nturned into sermons. No man sufficiently appreciates his home unless\nsometimes he goes away from it. It made me realise what a number of\nsplendid men and women there were in the world Man as a whole is a great\nsuccess; woman, taking her all in all, is a great achievement, and the\nreason children die is because they are too lovely to stay out of\nparadise.\n\nThree weeks in the West brought me back to Brooklyn supremely\noptimistic. There was more business in the markets than men could attend\nto. Times had changed. In Cincinnati once I was perplexed by the\ndifference in clock time. They have city time and railroad time there. I\nasked a gentleman about it.\n\n\"Tell me, how many kinds of time have you here?\" I asked. \"Three kinds,\"\nhe replied, \"city time, railroad time, and hard time.\"\n\nThere was no \"hard time\" at the close of 1886. The small rate of\ninterest we had been compelled to take for money had been a good thing.\nIt had enlivened investments in building factories and starting great\nenterprises. The 2 per cent. per month interest was dead. The fact that\na few small fish dared to swim through Wall Street, only to be gobbled\nup, did not stop the rising tide of national welfare. We were going\nahead, gaining, profiting even by the lives of those who were leaving us\nbehind.\n\nThe loss of the Rev. J. Hyatt Smith restored the symbol and triumph of\nself-sacrifice. In the most exact sense of the word he was a genius. He\nwasted no time in his study that he could devote to others, he was\nalways busy raising money to pay house rent for some poor woman,\nexhausting his energies in trying to keep people out of trouble,\nanswering the call of every school, of every reformatory, every\nphilanthropic institution. Had he given more time to study, he would\nhardly have had an equal in the American pulpit. He depended always upon\nthe inspiration of the moment. Sometimes he failed on this account. I\nhave heard him when he had the pathos of a Summerfield, the wit of a\nSidney Smith, and the wondrous thundering phraseology of a Thomas\nCarlyle. He had been everywhere, seen everything, experienced great\nvariety of gladness, grief, and betrayal. If you had lost a child, he\nwas the first man at your side to console you. If you had a great joy,\nhis was the first telegram to congratulate you. For two years he was in\nCongress. His Sundays in Washington were spent preaching in pulpits of\nall denominations. The first time I ever saw him was when he came to my\nhouse in Philadelphia, ringing the door bell, that he might assuage a\ngreat sorrow that had come to me. He was always in the shadowed home.\nHow much the world owes to such a nature is beyond the world's gift to\nreturn. His wit was of the kind that, like the dew, refreshes. He never\nlaughed at anything but that which ought to be laughed at. He never\ndealt in innuendoes that tipped both ways. We were old friends of many\nvicissitudes. Together we wept and laughed and planned. He had such\nsubtle ways of encouragement--as when he told me that he had read a\nlecture of mine to his dying daughter, and described how it had\ncomforted her. His was a life of profound self-sacrifice, but \"weeping\nmay endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.\"\n\nThe new year of 1887 began with a controversy that filled the air with\nunpleasant confusion. A small river of ink was poured upon it, a vast\namount of talk was made about it. A priest in the Roman Catholic Church,\nFather McGlynn, was arraigned by Archbishop Corrigan for putting his\nhand in the hot water of politics. In various ways I was asked my\nopinion of it all. My most decided opinion was that outsiders had better\nkeep their hands out of the trouble. The interference of people outside\nof a church with its internal affairs only makes things worse. The\npolicy of any church is best known by its own members. The controversy\nwas not a matter into which I could consistently enter.\n\nThe earth began its new year in hard luck. The earthquake in\nConstantinople, in February, was only one of a series of similar shakes\nelsewhere. The scientists were always giving us a lot of trouble.\nElectric showers in the sun disturbed our climate. Comets had been\nshooting about the sky with enough fire in their tails to obliterate us.\nCaracas was shaken, Lisbon buried, Java very badly cracked. It is a\nshaky, rheumatic, epileptic old world, and in one of its stupendous\nconvulsions it will die. It's a poor place in which to make permanent\ninvestments. It was quite as insecure in its human standards as in its\nscientific incompetence.\n\nOur laws were moral earthquakes that destroyed our standards. We were\nopposed to sneak thieves, but we admired the two million dollar rascals.\nWhy not a tax of five or ten thousand dollars to license the business of\ntheft, so that we might put an end to the small scoundrels who had\ngenius enough only to steal door mats, or postage stamps, or chocolate\ndrops, and confine the business to genteel robbery? A robber paying a\nprivilege of ten thousand dollars would then be able legally to abscond\nwith fifty thousand dollars from a bank; or, by watering the stock of a\nrailroad, he would be entitled to steal two hundred thousand dollars at\na clip. The thief's licence ought to be high, because he would so soon\nmake it up.\n\nA licence on blasphemy might have been equally advantageous. It could be\nmade high enough so that we could sweep aside all those who swear on a\nsmall scale, those who never get beyond \"By George!\" \"My stars!\" or\n\"Darn it!\" Then, again, the only way to put an end to murder in America\nis by high licenced murderers. Put a few men in to manage the business\nof murder. The common assassins who do their work with car hooks, dull\nknives or Paris green, should be abolished by law. Let the few experts\ndo it who can accomplish murder without pain: by chloroform or bulldog\nrevolvers. Give these men all the business. The licence in these cases\nshould be twenty thousand dollars, because the perquisites in gold\nwatches, money safes, and plethoric pocket-books would soon offset the\nlicence.\n\nHigh licences in rum-selling had always been urged, and always resulted\nin dead failures; therefore the whole method of legal restraint in crime\ncan be dismissed with irony. The overcrowding in the East was crushing\nour ethical and practical ambition. That is why the trains going\nwestward were so crowded that there was hardly room enough to stand in\nthem. We were restoring ourselves in Kansas and Missouri. After\nlecturing, in the spring of 1887, in fifteen Western cities, including\nChicago, St. Louis, and westward to the extreme boundaries of Kansas, I\nreturned a Westerner to convert the Easterner. In the West they called\nthis prosperity a boom, but I never liked the word, for a boom having\nswung one way is sure to swing the other. It was a revival of\nenterprise which, starting in Birmingham, Ala., advanced through\nTennessee, and spread to Kansas, Nebraska, Missouri. My forecast at this\ntime was that the men who went West then would be the successes in the\nnext twenty years. The centre of American population, which two years\nbefore had been a little west of Cincinnati, had moved to Kansas, the\nheart of the continent. The national Capital should have been midway\nbetween the Atlantic and the Pacific, in which case the great white\nbuildings in Washington could have been turned into art academies, and\nmuseums and libraries.\n\nProhibition in Kansas and Iowa was making honest men. I did not see an\nintoxicated man in either of these States. All the young men in Kansas\nand Iowa were either prohibitionists or loafers. The West had lost the\nsong plaintive and adopted the song jubilant.\n\nIn the spring of this year, 1887, Brooklyn was examined by an\ninvestigating committee. Even when Mayor Low was in power, three years\nbefore, the city was denounced by Democratic critics, so Mayor Whitney,\nof course, was the victim of Republican critics. The whole thing was\nmere partisan hypocrisy. If anyone asked me whether I was a Republican\nor a Democrat, I told them that I had tried both, and got out of them\nboth. I hope always to vote, but the title of the ticket at the top will\nnot influence me. Outside of heaven Brooklyn was the quietest place on\nSunday. The Packer and the Polytechnic institutes took care of our boys\nand girls. Our judiciary at this time included remarkable men: Judge\nNeilson, Judge Gilbert, and Judge Reynolds. We had enough surplus\ndoctors to endow a medical college for fifty other cities.\n\nIt looked as though our grandchildren would be very happy. We were only\nin the early morning of development. The cities would be multiplied a\nhundredfold, and yet we were groaning because a few politicians were\nconducting an investigation for lack of something better to do. From\ntime immemorial we had prayed for the President and Congress, but I\nnever heard of any prayers for the State Legislatures, and they needed\nthem most of all. They brought about the groans of the nation, and we\nwere constantly in complaint of them. I remember a great mass meeting in\nthe Academy of Music in Brooklyn, at which I was present, to protest\nagainst the passage of the Gambling Pool Bill, as it was called. I was\naccused of being over-confident because I said the State Senate would\nnot pass it without a public hearing. A public hearing was given,\nhowever, and my faith in the legislators of the State increased. We\nministers of Brooklyn had to do a good deal of work outside of our\npulpits, outside of our churches, on the street and in the crowds.\n\nWhen the Ives Gambling Pool Bill was passed I urged that the Legislature\nshould adjourn. The race track men went to Albany and triumphed.\nBrooklyn was disgraced before the world by our race tracks at Coney\nIsland, which were a public shame!\n\nAll the money in the world, however, was not abused. Philanthropists\nwere helping the Church. Miss Wolfe bequeathed a million dollars to\nevangelisation in New York; Mr. Depau, of Illinois, bequeathed five\nmillion dollars to religion, and the remaining three million of his\nfortune only to his family. There were others--Cyrus McCormick, James\nLenox, Mr. Slater, Asa D. Packer. They, with others, were men of great\ndeeds. We were just about ready to appreciate these progressive events.\n\nIn the summer of 1887 I urged a great World's Fair, because I thought\nit was due in our country, to the inventors, the artists, the industries\nof America. How to set the idea of a World's Fair agoing? It only needed\nenthusiasm among the prominent merchants and the rich men. All great\nthings first start in one brain, in one heart. I proposed that a World's\nFair should be held in the great acreage between Prospect Park and the\nsea.\n\nIn 1853 there was a World's Fair in New York. In the same year the\ndismemberment of the Republic was expected, and a book of several\nvolumes was advertised in London, entitled \"History of the Federal\nGovernment from the Foundation to the Dissipation of the United States.\"\nOnly one volume was ever published. The other volumes were never\nprinted. What a difference in New York city then, when it opened its\nCrystal Palace, and thirty-four years later--in 1887! That Crystal\nPalace was the beginning of World's Fairs in this country.\n\nIn the presence of the epauleted representatives of foreign nations,\nbefore a vast multitude, Franklin Pierce, President of the United\nStates, declared it open, and as he did so Julien, the inspired musical\nleader of his day, raised his baton for an orchestra of three thousand\ninstruments, while thousands of trained voices sang \"God Save the\nQueen,\" \"The Marseillaise,\" \"Bonnie Doon,\" \"The Harp that once through\nTara's Halls,\" and \"Hail Columbia.\" What that Crystal Palace, opened in\nNew York in 1853, did for art, for science, for civilisation, is beyond\nrecord. The generation that built it has for the most part vanished but\nfuture generations will be inspired by them.\n\nThe summer of 1887 opened the baseball season of America, and I\ndeplored an element of roughness and loaferism that attached itself to\nthe greatest game of our country. One of the national events of this\nseason of that year was a proposal to remove the battle-flag of the late\nwar. Good sense prevailed, and the controversy was satisfactorily\nsettled; otherwise the whole country would have been aflame. It was not\nmerely an agitation over a few bits of bunting. The most arousing,\nthrilling, blood-stirring thing on earth is a battle-flag. Better let\nthe old battle-flags of our three wars hang where they are. Only one\ncircumstance could disturb them, and that would be the invasion of a\nforeign power and the downfall of the Republic. The strongest passions\nof men are those of patriotism.\n\nThe best things that a man does in the world usually take a lifetime to\nmake. A career is a life job, and no one is sure whether it was worthy\nor not till it is over. I except doctors from this rule, of whom Homer\nsays:--\n\n    A wise physician skilled our wounds to heal\n    Is more than armies to the public weal.\n\nSome may remember the stalwart figure of Dr. Joseph Hutchinson, one of\nthe best American surgeons. For some years, in the streets of Brooklyn,\nhe was a familiar and impressive figure on horseback. He rode superbly,\nand it was his custom to make his calls in that way. He died in this\nyear. Daniel Curry was another significant, superior man of a different\nsort, who also died in the summer of 1887. He was an editor and writer\nof the Methodist Church. At his death he told one thing that will go\ninto the classics of the Church; and five hundred years beyond, when\nevangelists quote the last words of this inspired man, they will recall\nthe dying vision that came to Daniel Curry. He saw himself in the final\njudgment before the throne, and knew not what to do on account of his\nsins. He felt that he was lost, when suddenly Christ saw him and said,\n\"I will answer for Daniel Curry.\" In this world of vast population it is\nwonderful to find only a few men who have helped to carry the burden of\nothers with distinction for themselves. Most of us are driven.\n\nIn the two years and a half that our Democratic party had been in power,\nour taxes had paid in a surplus to the United States treasury of\n$125,000,000. The whole country was groaning under an infamous taxation.\nMost of it was spent by the Republican party, three or four years\nbefore, to improve navigation on rivers with about two feet of water in\nthem in the winter, and dry in summer. In the State of Virginia I saw\none of these dry creeks that was to be improved. Taxation caused the war\nof the Revolution. It had become a grinding wheel of government that\nrolled over all our public interests. Politicians were afraid to touch\nthe subject for fear they might offend their party. I touch upon it here\nbecause those who live after me may understand, by their own experience,\nthe infamy of political piracy practised in the name of government\ntaxation.\n\nWe had our school for scandal in America over-developed. A certain\namount of exposure is good for the soul, but our newspaper headlines\nover-reached this ideal purpose. They cultivated liars and encouraged\ntheir lies. The peculiarity of lies is their great longevity. They are a\nproductive species and would have overwhelmed the country and destroyed\nGeorge Washington except for his hatchet. Once born, the lie may live\ntwenty, thirty, or forty years. At the end of a man's life sometimes it\nis healthier than he ever was. Lies have attacked every occupant of the\nWhite House, have irritated every man since Adam, and every good woman\nsince Eve. Today the lie is after your neighbour; to-morrow it is after\nyou. It travels so fast that a million people can see it the next\nmorning. It listens at keyholes, it can hear whispers: it has one ear to\nthe East, the other to the West. An old-fashioned tea-table is its\njubilee, and a political campaign is its heaven. Avoid it you may not,\nbut meet it with calmness and without fear. It is always an outrage, a\npersecution.\n\nNothing more offensive to public sentiment could have occurred than the\nattempt made in New York in the autumn of 1887 to hinder the appointment\nof a new pastor of Trinity Church, on the plea that he came from a\nforeign country, and therefore was an ally to foreign labour. It was an\noutrage on religion, on the Church, on common sense. As a nation,\nhowever, we were safe. There was not another place in the world where\nits chief ruler could travel five thousand miles, for three weeks,\nunprotected by bayonets, as Mr. Cleveland did on his Presidential tour\nof the country. It was a universal huzzah, from Mugwumps, Republicans,\nand Democrats. We were a safe nation because we destroyed Communism.\n\nThe execution of the anarchists in Chicago, in November, 1887, was a\ndisgusting exhibition of the gallows. It took ten minutes for some of\nthem to die by strangulation. Nothing could have been more barbaric than\nthis method of hanging human life. I was among the first to publicly\npropose execution by electricity. Mr. Edison, upon a request from the\ngovernment, could easily have arranged it. I was particularly horrified\nwith the blunders of the hangman's methods, because I was in a friend's\noffice in New York, when the telegraph wires gave instantaneous reports\nof the executions in Chicago. I made notes of these flashes of death.\n\n\"Now the prisoners leave the cells,\" said the wire; \"now they are\nascending the stairs\"; \"now the rope is being adjusted\"; \"now the cap is\nbeing drawn\"; \"now they fall.\" Had I been there I would probably have\nfelt thankful that I was brought up to obey the law, and could\nunderstand the majesty of restraining powers. One of these men was\nnaturally kind and generous, I was told, but was embittered by one who\nhad robbed him of everything; and so he became an enemy to all mankind.\nOne of them got his antipathy for all prosperous people from the fact\nthat his father was a profligate nobleman, and his mother a poor,\nmaltreated, peasant woman. The impulse of anarchy starts high up in\nsociety. Chief among our blessings was an American instinct for\nlawfulness in the midst of lawless temptation. We were often reminded of\nthis supreme advantage as we saw passing into shadowland the robed\nfigure of an upright man.\n\nThe death of Judge Greenwood of Brooklyn, in November, 1887, was a\nreminder of such matters. He had seen the nineteenth century in its\nyouth and in its old age. From first to last, he had been on the right\nside of all its questions of public welfare. We could, appropriately,\nhang his portrait in our court rooms and city halls. The artist's brush\nwould be tame indeed compared with the living, glowing, beaming face of\ndear old Judge Greenwood in the portrait gallery of my recollections.\n\nThe national event of this autumn was President Cleveland's message to\nCongress, which put squarely before us the matter of our having a\nprotective tariff. It was the great question of our national problem,\nand called for oratory and statesmanship to answer it. The whole of\nEurope was interested in the subject. I advocated free trade as the best\nunderstanding of international trading, because I had talked with the\nleaders of political thought in Europe, and I understood both sides, as\nfar as my capacity could compass them. In America we were frequently\ncompared to the citizens of the French Republic because of our nervous\nforce, our restlessness, but we were more patient. In 1887, the\nresignation of President Grevy in France re-established this fact.\nThough an American President becomes offensive to the people, we wait\npatiently till his four years are out, even if we are not very quiet\nabout it. We are safest when we keep our hands off the Constitution. The\ndemonstration in Paris emphasised our Republican wisdom. Public service\nis an altar of sacrifice for all who worship there.\n\nThe death of Daniel Manning, ex-Secretary of the Treasury, in December,\n1887, was another proof of this. He fell prostrate on the steps of his\noffice, in a sickness that no medical aid could relieve. Four years\nbefore no one realised the strength that was in him. He threw body and\nsoul into the whirlpool of his work, and was left in the rapids of\ncelebrity. In the closing notes of 1887, I find recorded the death of\nMrs. William Astor. What a sublime lifetime of charity and kindness was\nhers! Mrs. Astor's will read like a poem. It had a beauty and a pathos,\nand a power entirely independent of rhythmical cadence. The document was\npublished to the world on a cold December morning, with its bequests of\nhundreds of thousands of dollars to the poor and needy, the invalids and\nthe churches. It put a warm glow over the tired and grizzled face of the\nold year. It was a benediction upon the coming years.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWELFTH MILESTONE\n\n1888\n\n\nIt seems to me that the constructive age of man begins when he has\npassed fifty. Not until then can he be a master builder. As I sped past\nthe fifty-fifth milestone life itself became better, broader, fuller. My\nplans were wider, the distances I wanted to go stretched before me,\nbeyond the normal strength of an average lifetime. This I knew, but\nstill I pressed on, indifferent of the speed or strain. There were\nindications that my strength had not been dissipated, that the years\nwere merely notches that had not cut deep, that had scarcely scarred the\nsurface of the trunk. The soul, the mind, the zest of doing--all were\nkeen and eager.\n\nThe conservation of the soul is not so profound a matter as it is\ndescribed. It consists in a guardianship of the gateways through which\nimpressions enter, or pass by; it consists in protecting one's inner\nself from wasteful associations.\n\nThe influence of what we read is of chief importance to character. At\nthe beginning of 1888 I received innumerable requests from people all\nover New York and Brooklyn for advice on the subject of reading. In the\ndeluge of books that were beginning to sweep over us many readers were\ndrowned. The question of what to read was being discussed everywhere.\n\nI opposed the majority of novels because they were made chiefly to set\nforth desperate love scrapes. Much reading of love stories makes one\nsoft, insipid, absent-minded, and useless. Affections in life usually\nwork out very differently. The lady does not always break into tears,\nnor faint, nor do the parents always oppose the situation, so that a\nromantic elopement is possible. Excessive reading of these stories makes\nfools of men and women. Neither is it advisable to read a book because\nsomeone else likes it. It is not necessary to waste time on Shakespeare\nif you have no taste for poetry or drama merely because so many others\nlike them; nor to pass a long time with Sir William Hamilton when\nmetaphysics are not to your taste. When you read a book by the page,\nevery few minutes looking ahead to see how many chapters there are\nbefore the book will be finished, you had better stop reading it. There\nwas even a fashion in books that was absurd. People were bored to death\nby literature in the fashion.\n\nFor a while we had a Tupper epidemic, and everyone grew busy writing\nblank verse--very blank. Then came an epidemic of Carlyle, and everyone\nwrote turgid, involved, twisted and breakneck sentences, each noun with\nas many verbs as Brigham Young had wives. Then followed a romantic\ncraze, and everyone struggled to combine religion and romance, with\nfrequent punches at religion, and we prided ourselves on being sceptical\nand independent in our literary tastes. My advice was simply to make up\none's mind what to read, and then read it. Life is short, and books are\nmany. Instead of making your mind a garret crowded with rubbish, make\nit a parlour, substantially furnished, beautifully arranged, in which\nyou would not be ashamed to have the whole world enter.\n\nThere was so much in the world to provoke the soul, and yet all\npersecution is a blessing in some way. The so-called modern literature,\ntowards the close of the nineteenth century, was becoming more and more\nthe illegitimate offspring of immaturity in thought and feeling. We were\nthe slaves of our newspapers; each morning a library was thrown on our\ndoorstep. But what a jumbled, inconsequent, muddled-up library! It was\nthe best that could be made in such a hurry, and it satisfied most of\nus, though I believe there were conservative people who opened it only\nto read the marriage and the death notices. The latter came along fast\nenough.\n\nIn January, 1888, that well-known American jurist and illustrious\nBrooklynite, Judge Joseph Neilson, died. He was an old friend of mine,\nof everyone who came upon his horizon. For a long while he was an\ninvalid, but he kept this knowledge from the world, because he wanted no\npublic demonstration. The last four years of his life he was confined to\nhis room, where he sat all the while calm, uncomplaining, interested in\nall the affairs of the world, after a life of active work in it. He\nbelonged to that breed which has developed the brain and brawn of\nAmerican character--the Scotch-Irish. If Christianity had been a\nfallacy, Judge Neilson would have been just the man to expose it. He who\non the judicial bench sat in solemn poise of spirit, while the ablest\njurists and advocates of the century were before him to be prompted,\ncorrected, or denied, was not the man to be overcome by a religion of\nsophistry or mere pretence. Chief Justice Salmon P. Chase said that he\nhad studied the Christian religion as he had studied a law case, and\nconcluded that it was divine. Judge Neilson's decisions will be quoted\nin court rooms as long as Justice holds its balance. The supremacy of a\nuseful life never leaves the earth--its influence remains behind.\n\nThe whole world, it seemed to me, was being spiritualised by the\ninfluences of those whose great moments on earth had planted tangible\nand material benefits, years after they themselves were invisible. It\nwas an elemental fact in the death chamber of Mr. Roswell, the great\nbotanist, in England; in the relieved anxieties in Berlin; in the\njubilation in Dublin; by the gathering of noblemen in St. Petersburg;\nand in the dawn of this new year. I could see a tendency in European\naffairs to the unification of nations.\n\nThe German and the French languages had been struggling for the\nsupremacy of Europe. As I foresaw events then, the two would first\nconquer Europe, and the stronger of the two would swallow the other.\nThen the English language would devour that, and the world would have\nbut one language. Over a million people had already began the study of\nVolapuek, a new language composed of all languages. This was an\nindication of world nationalisation. Congresses of nations, meeting for\nvarious purposes, were establishing brotherhood. It looked as though\nthose who were telling us again in 1888 that the second coming of Christ\nwas at hand were right. The divine significance of things was greater\nthan it had ever been.\n\nThere was some bigotry in religious affairs, of course. In our religion\nwe were as far from unity of feeling then as we had ever been. The\nPresbyterian bigot could be recognised by his armful of Westminster\ncatechisms. The Methodist bigot could be easily identified by his\ndeclaration that unless a man had been converted by sitting on the\nanxious seat he was not eligible. The way to the church militant,\naccording to this bigot, was from the anxious seat, one of which he\nalways carried with him. The Episcopal bigot struggled under a great\nload of liturgies. Without this man's prayer-books no one could be\nsaved, he said. The Baptist bigot was bent double with the burden of his\nbaptistry.\n\n\"It does not seem as if some of you had been properly washed,\" he said,\n\"and I shall proceed to put under the water all those who have neglected\ntheir ablutions.\" Religion was being served in a kind of ecclesiastical\nhash that, naturally enough, created controversy, as very properly it\nshould. In spite of these things, however, some creed of religious\nfaith, whichever it might be, was universally needed. I hope for a\nchurch unity in the future. When all the branches in each denomination\nhave united, then the great denominations nearest akin will unite, and\nthis absorption will go on until there will be one great millennial\nChurch, divided only for geographical convenience into sections as of\nold, when it was the Church of Laodicea, the Church of Philadelphia, the\nChurch of Thyatira. In the event of this religious evolution then there\nwill be the Church of America, the Church of Europe, the Church of Asia,\nthe Church of Africa, and the Church of Australia.\n\nWe are all builders, bigots, or master mechanics of the divine will.\n\nThe number of men who built Brooklyn, and who have gone into eternal\nindustry, were increasing. One day I paused a moment on the Brooklyn\nBridge to read on a stone the names of those who had influenced the\nbuilding of that span of steel, the wonder of the century. They were\nthe absent ones: The president, Mr. Murphy, absent; the vice-president,\nMr. Kingsley, absent; the treasurer, Mr. Prentice, absent; the engineer,\nMr. Roebling, absent. Our useful citizens were going or gone. A few days\nafter this Alfred S. Barnes departed. He has not disappeared, nor will\nuntil our Historical Hall, our Academy of Music, and Mercantile Library,\nour great asylums of mercy, and churches of all denominations shall have\ncrumbled. His name has been a bulwark of credit in the financial affairs\nover which he presided. He was a director of many universities. What\nreinforcement to the benevolence of the day his patronage was! I enjoyed\na warm personal friendship with him for many years, and my gratitude and\nadmiration were unbounded. He was a man of strict integrity in business\ncircles, the highest type of a practical Christian gentleman. Unlike so\nmany successful business men, he maintained an unusual simplicity of\ncharacter. He declined the Mayoralty and Congressional honours that he\nmight pursue the ways of peace.\n\nThe great black-winged angel was being desperately beaten back, however,\nby the rising generation of doctors, young, hearty, industrious,\nambitious graduates of the American universities. How bitterly\nvaccination was fought even by ministers of the Gospel. Small wits\ncaricatured it, but what a world-wide human benediction it proved. I\nremember being in Edinburgh a few weeks after the death of Sir James Y.\nSimpson, and his photograph was in every shop window, in honour of the\nman who first used chloroform as an anaesthetic. In former days they\ntried to dull pain by using the hasheesh of the Arabs. Dr. Simpson's wet\nsponge was a blessing put into the hands of the surgeon. The millennium\nfor the souls of men will be when the doctors have discovered the\nmillennium for their bodies.\n\nDr. Bush used to say in his valedictory address to the students of the\nmedical college, \"Young gentlemen, you have two pockets: a large pocket\nand a small pocket. The large pocket is for your annoyances and your\ninsults, the small pocket for your fees.\"\n\nIn March, 1888, we lost a man who bestowed a new dispensation upon the\ndumb animals that bear our burdens--Henry Bergh. Abused and ridiculed\nmost of his life, he established a great work for the good men and women\nof the ensuing centuries to carry out. Long may his name live in our\nconsecrated memory. In the same month, from Washington to Toledo, the\nlong funeral train of Chief Justice White steamed across country,\npassing multitudes of uncovered heads bowed in sorrowing respect, while\nacross the sea men honoured his distinguished memory.\n\nWhat a splendid inheritance for those of us who must pass out of the\nmultitude without much ado, if we are not remembered among the bores of\nlife. There were bores in the pulpit who made their congregations dread\nSundays; made them wish that Sunday would come only once a month. At one\ntime an original Frenchman actually tried having a Sunday only once\nevery ten days. A minister should have a conference with his people\nbefore he preaches, otherwise how can he tell what medicine to give\nthem? He must feel the spiritual pulse. Every man is a walking eternity\nin himself, but he will never qualify if he insists on being a bore,\neven if he have to face sensational newspaper stories about himself.\n\nI never replied to any such tales except once, and that once came about\nin the spring of 1888. I regarded it as a joke. Some one reported that\none evening, at a little gathering in my house, there were four kinds of\nwine served. I was much interviewed on the subject. I announced in my\nchurch that the report was false, that we had no wine. I did not take\nthe matter as one of offence. If I had been as great a master of\ninvective and satire as Roscoe Conkling I might have said more. In the\nspring of this year he died. The whole country watched anxiously the\nnews bulletins of his death. He died a lawyer. About Conkling as a\npolitician I have nothing to say. There is no need to enter that field\nof enraged controversy. As a lawyer he was brilliant, severely logical,\nif he chose to be, uproarious with mirth if he thought it appropriate.\nHe was an optimist. He was on board the \"Bothnia\" when she broke her\nshaft at sea, and much anxiety was felt for him. I sailed a week later\non the \"Umbria,\" and overtaking the \"Bothnia,\" the two ships went into\nharbour together. Meeting Mr. Conkling the next morning, in the\nNorth-Western Hotel, at Liverpool, I asked him if he had not been\nworried.\n\n\"Oh, no,\" he said; \"I was sure that good fortune would bring us through\nall right.\"\n\nHe was the only lawyer I ever knew who could afford to turn away from a\nseat on the bench of the Supreme Court of the United States. He had\nnever known misfortune. Had he ever been compelled to pass through\nhardships he would have been President in 1878. Because of certain\npeculiarities, known to himself, as well as to others, he turned aside\nfrom politics. Although neither Mr. Conkling nor Mr. Blaine could have\nbeen President while both lived, good people of all parties hoped for\nMr. Conkling's recovery.\n\nThe national respect shown at the death-bed of the lawyer revealed the\nprogress of our times. Lawyers, for many years in the past, had been\nostracised. They were once forbidden entrance to Parliament. Dr. Johnson\nwrote the following epitaph, which is obvious enough:--\n\n    God works wonders now and then;\n    Here lies a lawyer an honest man.\n\n\n\n\nTHE THIRTEENTH MILESTONE\n\n1888-1889\n\n\nThe longer I live the more I think of mercy. Fifty-six years of age and\nI had not the slightest suspicion that I was getting old. It was like a\ncrisp, exquisitely still autumn day. I felt the strength and buoyancy of\nall the days I had lived merging themselves into a joyous anticipation\nof years and years to come. For a long while I had cherished the dream\nthat I might some day visit the Holy Land, to see with my own eyes the\nsky, the fields, the rocks, and the sacred background of the Divine\nTragedy. The tangible plans were made, and I was preparing to sail in\nOctober, 1889. I felt like a man on the eve of a new career. The\nfruition of the years past was about to be a great harvest of successful\nwork. I speak of it without reserve, as we offer prayers of gratitude\nfor great mercies.\n\nEverything before me seemed finer than anything I had ever known. Few\nmen at my age were so blessed with the vigour of health, with the elixir\nof youth. To the world at large I was indebted for its appreciation, its\npraise sometimes, its interest always. My study in Brooklyn was a room\nthat had become a picturesque starting point for the imagination of\nkindly newspaper men. They were leading me into a new element of\ncelebrity.\n\nOne morning, in my house in Brooklyn, I was asked by a newspaper in New\nYork if it might send a reporter to spend the day with me there. I had\nno objection. The reporter came after breakfast. Breakfast was an\nawkward meal for the newspaper profession, otherwise we should have had\nit together. I made no preparation, set no scene, gave the incident no\nthought, but spent the day in the usual routine of a pastor's duty. It\nis an incident that puts a side-light on my official duties as a\nminister in his home, and for that reason I refer to it in detail. Some\nof the descriptions made by the reporter were accurate, and illustrative\nof my home life.\n\nMy mail was heavy, and my first duty was always to take it under my arm\nto my workshop on the second floor of my home in South Oxford Street. In\ndoing this I was closely followed by the reporter. My study was a place\nof many windows, and on this morning in the first week of 1888 it was\nflooded with sunshine, or as the reporter, with technical skill,\ndescribed it, \"A mellow light.\" The sun is always \"mellow\" in a room\nwhenever I have read about it in a newspaper. The reporter found my\nstudy \"an unattractive room,\" because it lacked the signs of \"luxury\" or\neven \"comfort.\" As I was erroneously regarded as a clerical Croesus at\nthis time the reporter's disappointment was excusable. The Gobelin\ntapestries, the Raphael paintings, the Turkish divans, and the gold and\nsilver trappings of a throne room were missing in my study. The reporter\nfound the floor distressingly \"hard, but polished wood.\" The walls were\npainfully plain--\"all white.\" My table, which the reporter kindly\nsignified as a \"big one,\" was drawn up to a large window. Of course,\nlike all tables of the kind, it was \"littered.\" I never read of a\nlibrary table in a newspaper that was not \"littered.\" The reporter\nspied everything upon it at once, \"letters, newspapers, books, pens, ink\nbottles, pencils, and writing-paper.\" All of which, of course, indicated\nintellectual supremacy to the reporter. The chair at my table was \"stiff\nbacked,\" and, amazing fact, it was \"without a cushion.\" In front of the\nchair, but on the table, the reporter discovered an \"open book,\" which\nhe concluded \"showed that the great preacher had been hurriedly called\naway.\" In every respect it was a \"typical literary man's den.\" Glancing\nshrewdly around, the reporter discovered \"bookshelves around the walls,\nbooks piled in corners, and even in the middle of the room.\" Also a\nnewspaper file was noticed, and--careless creature that I am--\"there\nwere even bundles of old letters tied with strings thrown carelessly\nabout.\" The reporter then said:--\n\n\"He told me this was his workshop, and looked me in the face with a\nmerry twinkle in his eye to see whether I was surprised or pleased.\"\n\nThen I asked the reporter to \"sit down,\" which he promptly did. I was\nclosely watched to see how I opened my mail. Nothing startling happened.\nI just opened \"letter after letter.\" Some I laid aside for my secretary,\nothers I actually attended to myself.\n\nA letter from a young lady in Georgia, asking me to send her what I\nconsider the most important word in my vocabulary, I answered\nimmediately. The ever-watchful reporter observes that to do this \"I pick\nup a pen and write on the margin of the girl's letter the word\n'helpfulness.'\" Then I sign it and stick it in an envelope. Then I \"dash\noff the address.\" Obviously I am not at all original at home. I replied\nto a letter from the president of a theological seminary, asking me to\nspeak to his young men. I like young men so I agree to do so if I can. I\n\"startle\" the reporter finally, by a sudden burst of unexpected hilarity\nover a letter from a man in Pennsylvania who wants me to send him a\ncheque by return mail for one hundred thousand dollars, on a sure thing\ninvestment. The reporter says:--\n\n\"I am startled by a shrill peal of laughter, and the great preacher\nleans back in his chair and shakes his sides.\"\n\nThe reporter looks over my shoulder and sees other letters.\n\n\"A young minister writes to say that his congregation is leaving him.\nHow shall he get his people back? An old sailor scrawls on a piece of\nyellow paper that he is bound for the China seas and he wants a copy of\neach of Dr. Talmage's sermons sent to his old wife in New Bedford,\nMass., while he is gone. Here is a letter in a schoolgirl's hand. She\nhas had a quarrel with her first lover and he has left her in a huff.\nHow can she get him back? Another letter is from the senior member of\none of the biggest commercial houses in Brooklyn. It is brief, but it\ngives the good doctor pleasure. The writer tells him how thoroughly he\nenjoyed the sermon last Sunday. The next letter is from the driver of a\nhorse car. He has been discharged. His children go to Dr. Talmage's\nSunday School. Is that not enough to show that the father is reliable\nand steady, and will not the preacher go at once to the superintendent\nof the car line and have him reinstated. Here is a perfumed note from a\nyoung mother who wants her child baptised. There are invitations to go\nhere and there, and to speak in various cities. Young men write for\nadvice: One with the commercial instinct strongly developed, wants to\nknow if the ministry pays? Still another letter is from a patent\nmedicine house, asking if the preacher will not write an endorsement of\na new cure for rheumatism. Other writers take the preacher to task for\nsome utterance in the pulpit that did not please them. Either he was too\nlenient or too severe. A young man wants to get married and writes to\nknow what it will cost to tie the knot. A New York actress, who has been\nan attendant for several Sundays at the Tabernacle, writes to say that\nshe is so well pleased with the sermons that she would be glad if she\ncould come earlier on Sunday morning, but she is so tired when Saturday\nnight comes that she can't get up early. Would it be asking too much to\nhave a seat reserved for her until she arrived!\"\n\nA maid in a \"white cap\" comes to the door and informs me that a \"roomful\nof people\" are waiting to see me downstairs. It is the usual routine of\nmy morning's work, when I receive all who come to me for advice and\nconsolation. The reporter regards it, however, as an event, and writes\nabout it in this way:--\n\n\"Visitors to the Talmage mansion are ushered through a broad hall into\nthe great preacher's back parlour. They begin to arrive frequently\nbefore breakfast, and the bell rings till long after the house is closed\nfor the night. There are men and women of all races, some richly\ndressed, some fashionably, some very poorly. Many of them had never\nspoken a word to Dr. Talmage before. They think that Talmage has only to\nstrike the rock to bring forth a stream of shining coins. He steps into\ntheir midst pleasantly.\n\n\"'Well, young man,' he says to a youth of seventeen, who stands before\nhim. He offers the boy his hand and shakes it heartily.\n\n\"'I don't suppose you know me,' says the lad, 'but I'm in your Sunday\nSchool. Mother thinks I should go to work and I have come to you for\nadvice.'\n\n\"Then follows in whispers a brief conversation about the boy himself,\nhis parents, his education and mode of life.\n\n\"'Now,' says the preacher, leading him by the hand to the door, 'get a\nletter from your mother, and also one from your Sunday School teacher,\nand one from your Day School teacher, and bring them to me. If they are\nsatisfactory I will give you a letter to a warm friend of mine who is\none of the largest dry goods merchants in New York. If you are able,\nbright, and honest he will employ you. If you are faithful you may some\nday be a member of the firm. All the world is before you, lad. Be\nhonest, have courage. Roll up your sleeves and go to work and you will\nsucceed. Goodbye!' and the door closes.\n\n\"The next caller is an old woman who wants the popular pastor to get her\nhusband work in the Navy Yard. No sooner is she disposed of, with a word\nof comfort, than a spruce-looking young man steps forward. He is a book\nagent, and his glib tongue runs so fast that the preacher subscribes for\nhis book without looking at it. As the agent retires a shy young girl\ncomes forward and asks for the preacher's autograph. It is given\ncheerfully. Two old ladies of bustling activity have come to ask for\nadvice about opening a soup kitchen for the poor. A middle-aged man\npours out a sad story of woe. He is a hard-working carpenter. His only\ndaughter is inclined to be wayward. Would Dr. Talmage come round and\ntalk to her?\n\n\"Finally, all the callers have been heard except one young man who sits\nin a corner of the room toying with his hat. He has waited patiently so\nthat he might have the preacher all alone. He rises as Dr. Talmage walks\nover to him.\n\n\"'I am in no hurry,' he says. 'I'll wait if you want to speak to--to--to\nthat man over there,' pointing to me.\n\n\"'No,' is the reply. 'We are going out together soon. What can I do for\nyou?'\n\n\"'Well I can call again if you are too busy to talk to me now?'\n\n\"'No, I am not too busy. Speak up. I can give you ten minutes.'\n\n\"'But I want a long talk,' persists the visitor.\n\n\"'I'd like to oblige you,' says the preacher, 'but I'm very busy\nto-day.'\n\n\"'I'll come to-morrow.'\n\n\"'No; I shall be busy to-morrow also.'\n\n\"'And to-night, too?'\n\n\"'Yes; my time is engaged for the entire week.'\n\n\"'Well, then,' says the young man, in a stammering way; 'I want your\nadvice. I'm employed in a big house in New York and I am getting a fair\nsalary. I have been offered a position in a rival house. Would it be\nright and honourable for me to leave? I am to get a little more salary.\nI must give my answer by to-morrow. I must make some excuse for leaving.\nI've thought it all over and don't know what to say. My present\nemployers have treated me well. I want your advice.'\n\n\"The good preacher protests that it is a delicate question to put to a\nstranger, even if that stranger happens to be a minister.\n\n\"'Is the firm a good one? Are you treated well? Haven't you a fair\nchance? Aren't they honourable men?'\n\n\"The answer to all these questions was in the affirmative.\n\n\"'But you could tell me whether it would be right for me to do it,\nand--and--if I could get a letter of recommendation from you it would\nhelp me.'\n\n\"'Why don't you ask your mother or father for advice?'\n\n\"'They are dead.'\n\n\"'Was your mother a Christian?'\n\n\"'Yes.'\n\n\"'Then get down on your knees here and lift your face to heaven. Ask\nyour angel mother if you would be doing right.'\n\n\"The young man's eyes fall to the floor. He toys nervously with his hat\nand backs out of the hall to the door. As he turns the knob he holds out\nhis right-hand to the preacher and whispers:\n\n\"'I thank you for your advice. I'll not leave my present employer.'\n\n\"Now the great preacher hastily puts on a thick overcoat and, taking a\nheavy walking-stick in hand, says: 'We'll go now.' He calls a cheery\n'goodbye' to Mrs. Talmage and closes the big door behind him. The air is\ncrispy and invigorating. Once in the street the preacher throws back his\nshoulders until his form is as straight as that of an Indian. His blue\neyes look out from behind a pair of shaggy eyebrows. They snap and\nsparkle like a schoolboy's. The face denotes health and strength. The\npreacher is fond of walking and strides along with giant steps. The\ncolour quickly mounts to his cheeks and reveals a face free from lines\nand full of health and manly vigour. He has noted the direction that he\nis to take carefully. As he walks along the street he is noticed by\neverybody. His figure is a familiar one in the streets of Brooklyn.\nNearly everybody bows to him. He has a hearty 'How are you to-day?' for\nall.\n\n\"Our direction lies in a thickly-populated section, not many blocks\nfrom the water front. It is in the tenement district where dozens of\nfamilies are huddled together in one house. We pause in front of a\nrickety building and stop an urchin in the hallway, who replies to the\nquestion that we are in the right house. Then the good Doctor pulls out\nof his pocket the letter he received some hours ago from the\ngrief-stricken young mother whose baby was ill and who asked for aid.\n\n\"Up flight after flight of stairs we go; two storeys, three, four, five.\nAs we reach the landing, a tidy young woman appears. She is holding her\nface in her hands and sobbing to break her heart.\n\n\"'Oh, I knew you would come,' she says, as the tears roll down her\ncheeks; 'I used to go to your church, and I know how deeply your sermons\ntouched me. Oh! That was long ago. It was before I knew John, and before\nour baby came.'\n\n\"Here the speaker broke down completely.\n\n\"'But it's all over now,' she began again.\n\n\"'John has ill-used me, and beaten me, and forced me to support him in\ndrunkenness. I could stand all that for my baby's sake.'\n\n\"She had sunk to the floor on her knees. She was pouring out her soul in\nagony of grief.\n\n\"'Oh! my baby, my baby!' she cried piteously. 'Why were you taken? Oh,\nthe blow is too much! I can't stand it. Merciful Father, have I not\nsuffered enough?'\n\n\"She fell in a heap on the floor. The heavy breathing and sobbing\ncontinued. We looked into the little room. It was scrupulously clean,\nbut barren of furniture and even the rudest comforts of a home. The\nwindow curtains are pulled down, but a ray of bright sunlight shoots in\nand lying on the apology for a bed is a babe. Its eyes are closed. Its\nface is as white as alabaster. The little thin hands are folded across\nits tiny breast. Its sufferings are over.\n\n\"The Angel of Death had touched its forehead with its icy finger and its\nspirit had flown to the clouds.\n\n\"The end had come before the preacher could offer aid.\n\n\"What a scene it was!\n\n\"Here, in one of the biggest cities in the world, an innocent child had\ndied of hunger, and because its mother was too poor to pay for medical\nattendance.\n\n\"A word or two was whispered in the mother's ear and we pass down the\ncreaking stairs to the street. The sun is shining brightly. A half-dozen\nromping children are on their way home to lunch. The business of the\ngreat city is moving briskly. It is Christmas week and the air is\nredolent with the suggestions of good things to come and visions of\nKriss Kringle. Truck drivers are whipping their horses and swearing at\nothers in their way. An organ-grinder is playing 'Sweet violets' on a\nneighbouring corner. Everyone in the streets is of smiling face and\nhappy.\"\n\nThe picture is not mine, nor could I have drawn one of myself, but it is\na sketch illustrating the almost daily experiences of a \"popular\"\nminister, as I was called. It was estimated that my weekly sermons, in\nall parts of the world, reached 180,000,000 people every Monday\nmorning--the year 1888. This was gratifying to a man who, in his student\ndays, had been told that he would never be fit to preach the Gospel in\nany American pulpit. I thanked God for the great opportunity of His\nblessings.\n\n[Illustration: DR. TALMAGE AS CHAPLAIN OF THE THIRTEENTH REGIMENT.]\n\nIn the spring of 1888 I received the honour of being made chaplain of\nthe \"Old Thirteenth\" Regiment of the National Guard, with a commission\nas captain, to succeed my old friend and fellow-worker, Henry Ward\nBeecher, who had died. Although I was a very busy man I accepted it,\nbecause I had always felt it my duty to be a part of any public-spirited\nenterprise. On March 7th, 1888, before a vast assembly, the oath was\nadministered by Colonel Austen, and I received my commission. Memories\nof my actual, though brief, sight of war, at Sharpsburg and Hagerstown,\nwhere the hospitals were filled with wounded soldiers, mingled faintly\nwith the actual scene of peace and plenty around me at that moment. We\nneeded no epaulet then but the shoulder that is muscular, and we needed\nno commanding officer but the steadiness of our own nerves. The\nThirteenth Regiment was at the height of its prosperity then; our band,\nunder the leadership of Fred Inness, was the best in the city. I\nremembered it well because, in the parade on Decoration Day, I was on\nhorseback riding a somewhat unmusical horse. It was comforting, if not\nstrictly true, to read in the newspaper the following day that \"Doctor\nTalmage rides his horse with dash and skill.\"\n\nThe association of ideas in American life is a wonderful mixture of the\nappropriate and the inappropriate. Because my church was crowded,\nbecause I lived in a comfortable house, because I could become, on\noccasions, a preacher on horseback, I was rated as a millionaire\nclergyman. It was amusing to read about, but difficult to live up to.\nThere were many calculations in the newspapers as to my income. Some of\nthe more moderate figures were correct. My salary was $12,000 as pastor\nof the Tabernacle, I have made over $20,000 a year from my lectures.\nFrom the publication of my sermons my income was equal to my salary. I\nreceived $5,000 a year as editor of a popular monthly; I sometimes wrote\nan article that paid me $150 or more, and a single marriage fee was\noften as high as $250. There were some royalties on my books.\n\nWe lived well, dressed comfortably; but there were many demands on me\nthen, as on all public men, and I needed all I could earn. I carried a\nlife insurance of $75,000. All this was a long way from being a Croesus\nof the clergy, however. I mention these figures and facts because they\nstimulate to me, as I hope they will to others, the possibilities of\ntemporal welfare in a minister's life, provided he works hard and is\nfaithful to the tremendous trusts of his calling.\n\nA man's industry is the whole of that man, just as his laziness is the\nend of him. I always believed heartily, profoundly, in the equality of a\nman's salvation with a man's self-respect in temporal affairs. I am sure\nthat whoever keeps the books in Heaven credits the account of a new\narrival with the exact amount of salvation he or she has achieved,\nmaking a due allowance for the amounts earned and paid over to the\ncauses of charity, kindliness, and mercy.\n\nI always believed in the business and the religious method of the\nSalvation Army, because it was an effort to discipline salvation on a\nworking basis. When the Salvation Army first began its meetings in\nBrooklyn its members were hooted and insulted in the streets to an\nextent that rendered their meetings almost impossible. I was requested\nto present a petition to Mayor Whitney asking protection for them in the\nstreets of the city. People residing near the Salvation headquarters\nwere in constant danger of annoyance from the mobs that gathered about\nthem. It was the fault of the Brooklyn ruffianism. I demanded that the\nSalvation Army be permitted to hold meetings and march in processions\nunmolested. No one was ever killed by a street hosannah, no one was ever\nhurt by hearing a hallelujah. The more inspiring the music the more\nvirile the optimism we can show, the more good we can do each other in\nthe climb to Paradise. A minister's duty in his own community, and in\nall other communities in which he may find himself, is to make the great\nmen of his time understand him and like him.\n\nA minister who could adapt himself to the lights and shadows of human\ncharacter in men of prominence enjoyed many opportunities that were\nenlightening. One met them, these men of many talents, at their best at\ndinners and banquets. It was then they were in their splendour.\n\nThose dinners at the Press Club in 1888, what treat they were! In the\ndays of John A. Cockerill, the handsome, dashing \"Colonel,\" as he was\ncalled, of Mayor Grant the suave, Chauncey M. Depew the wit, of Charles\nEmory Smith the conservative journalist, of Henry George the Socialist,\nMoses P. Handy the \"Major,\" of Roswell P. Flower, of Judge Henry Hilton,\nof General Felix Agnus--and of Hermann, the original, the great, the\nmagic wonder-maker of the times. They were the leading spirits of an\narmy of bright men who pushed the world upside down, or rolled it over\nand over, or made it stand still, according to how they felt. Mingling\nwith these arbiters of our fate were all sorts and conditions of men. At\none of these dinners I remember seeing Inspector Byrnes, the Sherlock\nHolmes of American crime, Colonel Ochiltree, the red savage, Steven\nFiske, Samuel Carpenter, Judge David McAdam, John W. Keller, Judge\nGedney, \"Pat\" Gilmore, Rufus Hatch, General Horatio C. King, Frank B.\nThurber, J. Amory Knox, E.B. Harper, W.J. Arkell, Dr. Nagle, the poet\nGeogheghan, Doc White, and Joseph Howard, jun. They were the old guard\nof the land of Bohemia, where a minister's voice sounded good to them if\nit was a voice without cant or religious hypocrisy. I remember a letter\nsent by President Harrison to one of these dinners, in which, after\nacknowledging the receipt of an invitation to attend, he regretted being\nunable to be present at \"so attractive an event.\"\n\nAmong the men whom I first met at this time, and who made an impression\nof lasting respect upon me, was Henry Cabot Lodge. He was the guest of\nGeneral Stewart L. Woodford, at a breakfast given in his honour in the\nspring of 1888 at the Hamilton Club. General Woodford invited me, among\nothers, to meet him. We all came--Mr. Benjamin A. Stillman, Mr. J.S.T.\nStranahan, Mr. Theodore Roosevelt, Judge C.R. Pratt, ex-Mayor Schroeder,\nMr. John Winslow, president of the New England Society, Mr. George M.\nOlcott, Mr. William Copeland Wallace, Colonel Albert P. Lamb, Mr.\nCharles A. Moore, Mr. William B. Williams, Mr. Ethan Allen Doty, Mr.\nJames S. Case, Mr. T.L. Woodruff. It was a social innovation then to\narrange a gathering of this sort at 11 a.m. and call it a breakfast. It\ncame from England. Mr. Lodge was only in town on a visit for a few days,\nchiefly, I think, to attend the annual dinner of the \"Sunrise Sons,\" as\nthe members of the New England society were called. As I read these\nnames again, how big some of them look now, in the world's note-book of\ncelebrities. Some of them were just beginning to learn the pleasant\ntaste of ambitious careers. Most of them had discovered that ambition\nwas the gift of hard work. There is more health in work than in any\nmedicine I ever heard of.\n\nWork is the only thing that keeps people alive. Whatever posterity may\nproclaim for me, I always had the reputation of being a worker. Perhaps\nfor this reason I became the object of a microscopic investigation\nbefore the people in 1888. It was the first time in my life that any\nnotable attention had been taken of me in my own country, that was not a\npersonal notoriety over some conflict of the hour. Whenever the American\nnewspaper begins to describe your home life with an air of analysis that\nis not libellous you are among the famous. It took me a little while to\nunderstand this. A man's private life is of such indifferent character\nto himself, unless he be an official representative of the people, that\nI never quite appreciated the importance given to mine, at this time, in\nBrooklyn. Chiefly because I had made money as a writer, my\nfellow-citizens were curious to know how, in the clerical profession, it\ncould be made. Articles appeared constantly in the newspapers with\nheadlines like these--\"Dr. Talmage at Home,\" \"In a Clergyman's Study,\"\n\"Dr. Talmage's Wealth,\" \"Talmage Interviewed.\" Nearly all of them began\nwith the American view point uppermost, in this fashion:\n\n\"The American preacher lives in a luxurious home.\"\n\n\"His income, from all sources, exceeds that of the President of the\nUnited States.\"\n\n\"The impression is everywhere that Dr. Talmage is very rich.\"\n\nI regretted this because there is a notion that a minister of the Gospel\ncannot accumulate money for himself, that he should not do so if he\ncould, that his duty consists in collecting money for his church, his\nparish, his mission--for anything and everyone but his own temporal\nprosperity. I had done this all my life. I can solemnly say that I never\nsought the financial success which in some measure came to me. I\nregarded the money which I received for my work as pastor of the\nTabernacle, or from other sources as an earning capacity that is due to\nevery working man. I was able to do more work than some, because the\nmotives of my whole life have insisted that I work hard. The impetus of\nmy strength was not abnormal, it was merely the daily requirement of my\nhealth that I work as hard as I knew how as long as I could.\nRestlessness was an element of life with me. I could not keep still any\nlength of time. My mind had acquired the habit of ideas, and my hands\nwere always full of unfinished labours.\n\nI remember trying once to sit still at a concert of Gilmore's band, at\nManhattan Beach. After hearing one selection I found myself unable to\nlisten any farther--I could not sit quiet for longer. I rarely allowed\nmyself more than five minutes for shaving, no matter whether the razor\nwere sharp or blunt. They used to tell me that I wore a black bow tie\ntill it was not fit to wear. On the trains I slept a great deal. Sleep\nis the great storage battery of life. Four days of the week I was on the\ntrain. I rose every morning at six. The first thing I did was to glance\nover the morning newspaper, to catch in this whispering gallery of the\nworld the life of a new day. First the cable news, then the editorials,\nthen the news about ourselves. I received the principal newspapers of\nalmost every big city in the morning mail I enjoyed the caricatures of\nmyself, they made me laugh. If a man poked fun at me with true wit I was\nhis friend. They were clever fellows those newspaper humorists. I\nconsider walking a very important exercise--not merely a stroll, but a\ngood long walk. Often I used to go from the Grand Central Depot in New\nYork to my home in Brooklyn. There and back was my usual promenade.\nSeven miles should be an average walk for a man past fifty every day. I\nhave made fifteen and twenty miles without fatigue. I always dined in\nthe middle of the day. Contrary to \"Combes' Physiology,\" I always took a\nnap after dinner. In my boyhood days this was a book that opposed the\nhabit. Combes said that he thought it very injurious to sleep after\ndinner, but I saw the cow lie down after eating, and the horse, and it\nseemed to me that Combes was wrong. A morning bath is absolutely\nindispensable. When I was in college there were no luxurious hot and\ncold bath rooms. I often had to break the ice in my pitcher to get at\nthe water.\n\nThese were the habits of my life, formed in my youth, and as they grew\nupon me they were the sinews that kept me young in the heart and brain\nand muscle. My voice rarely, if ever, failed me entirely. In 1888, to my\nsurprise and delight, my western trips had become ovations that no human\nbeing could fail to enjoy. In St. Paul, Duluth, Minneapolis, the crowds\nin and about the churches where I preached were estimated to be over\ntwenty thousand. It was a joy to live realising the service one could be\nto others. This year of 1888 was to be a climax to so many aspirations\nof my life that I am forced to record it as one of the most important of\nall my working years. No event of any consequence in the country, social\nor political, or disastrous, happened, that my name was not available to\nthe ethical phase of its development. Newspaper squibs of all sorts\nreflect this fact in some way. Here is one that illustrates my meaning:\n\n    \"ONLY TALMAGE!\n\n    \"The weary husband was lounging in the old armchair reading before\n    the fire after the day's work. Suddenly he brought down his hand\n    vigorously upon his knee, exclaiming, 'That's so! That's so!' A\n    minute after, he cried again, 'Well, I should say.' Then later,\n    'Good for you; hit them right and left.' Soon he stretched himself\n    out at full length in the chair, let his right hand, holding the\n    paper, drop nearly to the floor, threw up his left and laughed aloud\n    until the rafters rang. His anxious wife inquired, 'What is it so\n    funny, John?'\n\n    \"He made no reply, but lifted the paper again, straightened himself\n    up, and went on reading. Very quiet he now grew by degrees. Then\n    slyly he slipped his left hand around and drew out his handkerchief,\n    wiped his brow and lips by way of excuse and gave his eyelids a\n    passing dash. The very next moment he pressed the handkerchief to\n    his eyes and let the paper drop to the floor, saying, 'Well, that's\n    wonderful.' 'What is it, John?' his good wife inquired again. 'Oh!\n    It's only Talmage!'\"\n\nMy contemporaries in Brooklyn celebrity at this time were unusual men.\nSome of them were dear friends, some of them close friends, some of them\nadvisers or champions, guardians of my peace--all of them friends.\n\nAbout this time I visited Johnstown, shortly after the flood. My heart\nwas weary with the scenes of desolation about me. It did not seem\npossible that the hospitable city of Johnstown I had known in other days\ncould be so tumbled down by disaster. Where I had once seen the street,\nequal in style to Euclid Avenue in Cleveland, I found a long ridge of\nsand strewn with planks and driftwood. By a wave from twelve to twenty\nfeet high, 800 houses were crushed, twenty-eight huge locomotives from\nthe round house were destroyed, hundreds of people dead and dying in its\nanger. Two thousand dead were found, 2,000 missing, was the record the\nday I was there. The place became used to death. It was not a sensation\nto the survivors to see it about them. I saw a human body taken out of\nthe ruins as if it had been a stick of wood. No crowd gathered about it.\nSome workmen a hundred feet away did not stop their work to see. The\ndevastation was far worse than was ever told. The worst part of it could\nnot even be seen. The heart-wreck was the unseen tragedy of this\nunfortunate American city. From Brooklyn I helped to send temporary\nrelief. With a wooden box in my hand I, with others, collected from the\nbounty of that vast meeting in the Academy of Music. The exact amount\npaid over by our relief committee in all was $95,905. There was no end\nto the demand upon one's energy in all directions.\n\nI was called upon in September, 1888, to lay the corner stone of the\nFirst Presbyterian Church at Far-Rockaway, and amid the imposing\nceremonies I predicted the great future of Long Island. It seemed to me\nthat Long Island would some day be the London of America, filled with\nthe most prominent churches of the country.\n\nWhile in the plans of others I was an impulse at least towards success,\nin my own plans, how often I have been scourged and beaten to earth. As\nit had been before, so it was in this zenith of my personal progress. To\nmy amazement, chagrin and despair, on the morning of October 13, 1889,\nour beautiful church was again burned to the ground.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOURTEENTH MILESTONE\n\n1889-1891\n\n\nFor fifteen years, to a large part of the public, I had been an\nexperiment in church affairs. In 1889 I had caught up with the world and\nthe things I had been doing and thinking and hoping became suitable for\nthe world. In the retrospect of those things I had left behind what\ngratitude I felt for their strife and struggle! A minister of the Gospel\nis not only a sentinel of divine orders, he must also have deep\nconvictions of his authority to resist attack in his own way, by his own\nforce, with his own strength and faith. When, on June 3, 1873, I laid\nthe corner-stone of the new tabernacle, I dedicated the sacred building\nas a stronghold against rationalism and humanitarianism. I knew then\nthat this statement was regarded as questionable orthodoxy, and I myself\nhad become the curious symbol of a new religion. Still I pursued my\ncourse, an independent sentry on the outskirts of the old religious\ncamping-ground, but inspired with the converting grace I had received in\nmy boyhood, my duty was clearly not so much a duty of regulations as it\nwas a conception, a sympathy, a command to the Christian needs of the\nhuman race.\n\nWhen the first Tabernacle was consumed by fire my utterances were\ncriticised and my enthusiasm to rebuild it was misconstrued. My\nconvictions then were the same, they have always been the same. To me it\nseemed that God's most vehement utterances had been in flames of fire.\nThe most tremendous lesson He ever gave to New York was in the\nconflagration of 1835; to Chicago in the conflagration of 1871; to\nBoston in the conflagration of 1872; to my own congregation in the fiery\ndownfall of the Tabernacle. Some saw in the flames that roared through\nits organ pipes a requiem, nothing but unmitigated disaster, while\nothers of us heard the voice of God, as from Heaven, sounding through\nthe crackling thunder of that awful day, saying, \"He shall baptise you\nwith the Holy Ghost and with Fire!\"\n\nIt was a very different state of public feeling which met the disaster\nthat came to the Tabernacle on that early Sabbath morning of October 18,\n1889. I had a congregation of millions all over the world to appeal to.\nI stood before them, accredited in the religious course I had pursued,\napproved as a minister of the Gospel, upheld as a man and a preacher.\nThe hand of Providence is always a mysterious grasp of life that\nconfuses and dismays, but it always rebuilds, restores, and prophesies.\n\nThe second Tabernacle was destroyed during a terrific thunderstorm. It\nwas crumpled and torn by the winds and the flames of heaven. I watched\nthe fire from the cupola of my house in silent abnegation. The history\nof the Brooklyn Tabernacle had been strange and peculiar all the way\nthrough. Things that seemed to be against us always turned out finally\nfor us. Our brightest and best days always follow disaster. Our\nenlargements of the building had never met our needs. Our plans had\npleased the people, but we needed improvements. In this spirit I\naccepted the situation, and the Board of Trustees sustained me. Our\ninsurance on the church building was over $120,000. I made an appeal to\nthe people of Brooklyn and to the thousands of readers my sermons had\ngained, for the sum of $100,000. It would be much easier to accomplish,\nI felt, than it had been before.\n\nAt my house in Brooklyn, on the evening of the day of the fire, the\nfollowing resolutions were passed by the Board of Trustees:--\n\n\"Resolved--that we bow in humble submission to the Providence which this\nmorning removed our beloved Church, and while we cannot fully understand\nthe meaning of that Providence we have faith that there is kindness as\nwell as severity in the stroke.\n\n\"Resolved:--That if God and the people help us we will proceed at once\nto rebuild, and that we rear a larger structure to meet the demands of\nour congregation, the locality and style of the building to be indicated\nby the amount of contributions made.\"\n\nA committee was immediately formed to select a temporary place of\nworship, and the Academy of Music was selected, because of its size and\nlocation.\n\nI was asked for a statement to the people through the press. From a\nscrap-book I copy this statement:--\n\n    \"To the People--\n\n    \"By sudden calamity we are without a church. The building associated\n    with so much that is dear to us is in ashes. In behalf of my\n    stricken congregation I make appeal for help. Our church has never\n    confined its work to this locality. Our church has never been\n    sufficient either in size or appointments for the people who came.\n    We want to build something worthy of our city and worthy of the\n    cause of God.\n\n    \"We want $100,000, which, added to the insurance, will build what is\n    needed. I make appeal to all our friends throughout Christendom, to\n    all denominations, to all creeds and to those of no creed at all, to\n    come to our rescue. I ask all readers of my sermons the world over\n    to contribute as far as their means will allow. What we do as a\n    Church depends upon the immediate response made to this call. I was\n    on the eve of departure for a brief visit to the Holy Land that I\n    might be better prepared for my work here, but that visit must be\n    postponed. I cannot leave until something is done to decide our\n    future.\n\n    \"May the God who has our destiny as individuals and as churches in\n    His hand appear for our deliverance!\n\n    \"Responses to this appeal to the people may be sent to me in\n    Brooklyn, and I will with my own hand acknowledge the receipt\n    thereof.\n\n    \"T. DEWITT TALMAGE.\"\n\nI had planned to sail for the Holy Land on October 30, but the disaster\nthat had come upon us seemed to make it impossible. I had almost given\nit up. There followed such an universal response to my appeal, such a\nremarkable current of sympathy, however, that completely overwhelmed me,\nso that by the grace of God I was able to sail. To the trustees of the\nTabernacle much of this was due. They were the men who stood by me, my\nfriends, my advisers. I record their names as the Christian guardians of\nmy destiny through danger and through safety. They were Dr. Harrison A.\nTucker, John Wood, Alexander McLean, E.H. Lawrence, and Charles Darling.\nIn a note-book I find recorded also the names of some of the first\nsubscribers to the new Tabernacle. They were the real builders. Wechsler\nand Abraham were among the first to contribute $100, \"Texas Siftings\"\nthrough J. Amory Knox sent $25, and \"Judge\" forwarded a cheque for the\nsame amount, with the declaration that all other periodicals in the\nUnited States ought to go and do likewise. A.E. Coates sent $200, E.M.\nKnox $200, A.J. Nutting $100, Benjamin L. Fairchild $100, Joseph E.\nCarson $100, Haviland and Sons $25, Francis H. Stuart, M.D., $25, Giles\nF. Bushnell $25, and Pauline E. Martin $25.\n\nEven the small children, the poor, the aged, sent in their dollars.\nAbout one thousand dollars was contributed the first day. Everything was\ndone by the trustees and the people, to expedite the plans of the New\nTabernacle so that in two weeks from the date of the fire I broke ground\nfor what was to be the largest church in the world of a Protestant\ndenomination, on the corner of Clinton and Greene Avenues. That\nafternoon of October 28, 1889, when I stood in the enclosure arranged\nfor me, and consecrated the ground to the word of God, was another\nmoment of supreme joy to me. It was said that those who witnessed the\nceremony were impressed with the importance of it in the course of my\nown life and in the history of Christianity. To me it was akin to those\npregnant hours of my life through which I had passed in great exaltation\nof spiritual fervour.\n\nMy words of consecration were brief, as follows:\n\n\"May the Lord God of Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and Joshua, and\nPaul, and John Knox, and John Wesley, and Hugh Latimer, and Bishop\nMcIlvaine take possession of this ground and all that shall be built\nupon it.\"\n\nBefore me was a vision of that church, its Gothic arches, its splendour\nof stained-glass windows, its spires and gables, and, as I saw this our\nthird Tabernacle rise up before me, I prayed that its windows might look\nout into the next world as well as this. I was glad that I had waited to\nturn that bit of God-like earth on the old Marshall homestead in\nBrooklyn, for it filled my heart with a spiritual promise and potency\nthat was an invisible cord binding me during my pilgrimage to Jordan\nwith my congregation which I had left behind.\n\nWith Mrs. Talmage and my daughter, May Talmage, I sailed on the \"City of\nParis,\" on October 30, 1889, to complete the plan I had dreamed of for\nyears. I had been reverently anxious to actually see the places\nassociated with our Lord's life and death. I wanted to see Bethlehem and\nNazareth, and Jerusalem and Calvary, so intimately connected with the\nministry of our Saviour. I had arranged to write a Life of Christ, and\nthis trip was imperative. In that book is the complete record of this\njourney, therefore I feel that other things that have not been told\ndeserve the space here that would otherwise belong to my recollections\nof the Holy Land. It was reported that while in Jerusalem I made an\neffort to purchase Calvary and the tomb of our Saviour, so as to present\nit to the Christian Church at large. I was so impressed with the fact\nthat part of this sacred ground was being used as a Mohammedan cemetery\nthat I was inspired to buy it in token of respect to all Christendom. Of\ncourse this led to much criticism, but that has never stopped my\nconvictions. I was away for two months, returning in February, 1890.\n\nDuring my absence our Sunday services were conducted by the most\ntalented preachers we could secure. With the exception of a few days'\ninfluenza while I was in Paris, in January, just prior to my return, the\ntrip was a glorious success. According to the editorial opinion of one\nnewspaper I had \"discovered a new Adam that was to prove a puissant ally\nin his future struggles with the old Adam.\" This was not meant to be\nfriendly, but I prefer to believe that it was so after all. In England I\nwas promised, if I would take up a month's preaching tour there, that\nthe English people would subscribe five thousand pounds to the new\nTabernacle. These and other invitations were tempting, but I could not\nalter my itinerary.\n\nWhile in England I received an invitation from Mr. Gladstone to visit\nhim at Hawarden. He wired me, \"pray come to Hawarden to-morrow,\" and on\nJanuary 24, 1890, I paid my visit. I was staying at the Grand Hotel in\nLondon when the telegram was handed to me. With the rest of the world,\nat that time, I regarded Mr. Gladstone as the most wonderful man of the\ncentury.\n\nHe came into the room at Hawarden where I was waiting for him, an alert,\neager, kindly man. He was not the grand old man in spirit, whatever he\nmay have been in age. He was lithe of body, his step was elastic. He\nheld out both his hands in a cordial welcome. He spoke first of the wide\npublication of my sermons in England, and questioned me about them. In a\nfew minutes he proposed a walk, and calling his dog we started out for\nwhat was in fact a run over his estate. Gladstone was the only man I\never met who walked fast enough for me. Over the hills, through his\nmagnificent park, everywhere he pointed out the stumps of trees which he\nhad cut down. Once a guest of his, an English lord, had died emulating\nGladstone's strenuous custom. He showed me the place.\n\n\"No man who has heart disease ought to use the axe,\" he said; \"that very\nstump is the place where my friend used it, and died.\"\n\nHe rallied the American tendency to exaggerate things in a story he told\nwith great glee, about a fabulous tree in California, where two men\ncutting at it on opposite sides for many days were entirely oblivious of\neach other's presence. Each one believed himself to be a lone woodsman\nin the forest until, after a long time, they met with surprise at the\nheart of the tree. American stories seemed to tickle him immensely. He\ntold another kindred one of a fish in American lakes, so large that when\nit was taken out of the water the lake was perceptibly lowered. He grew\nbuoyant, breezy, fanciful in the brisk winter air. Like his dog, he was\ntingling with life. He liked to throw sticks for him, to see him jump\nand run.\n\n\"Look at that dog's eyes, isn't he a fine fellow?\" he kept asking. His\nknowledge of the trees on his estate was historical. He knew their\nlineage and characteristics from the date of their sapling age, four or\nfive hundred years before. The old and decrepit aristocrats of his\nforest were tenderly bandaged, their arms in splints.\n\n\"Look at that sycamore,\" he said; \"did you find in the Holy Land any\nmore thrifty than that? You know sometimes I am described as destroying\nmy trees. I only destroy the bad to help the good. Since I have thrown\nmy park open to visitors the privilege has never been abused.\"\n\nWe drifted upon all subjects, rational, political, religious, ethical.\n\n\"Divorce in your country, is it not a menace?\" he asked.\n\n\"The great danger is re-marriage. It should be forbidden for divorced\npersons. I understand that in your State of South Carolina there is no\ndivorce. I believe that is the right idea. If re-marriage were\nimpossible then divorce would be impossible,\" he replied to his own\nquestion.\n\nGladstone's religious instinct was prophetic in its grasp. His\nintellectual approval of religious intention was the test of his faith.\nHe applied to the exaltations of Christianity the reason of human fact.\nI was forcibly impressed with this when he told me of an incident in his\nboyhood.\n\n\"I read something in 'Augustine' when I was a boy,\" he said, \"which\nstruck me then with great force. I still feel it to-day. It was the\npassage which says, 'When the human race rebelled against God, the lower\nnature of man as a consequence rebelled against the higher nature.'\"\n\nI asked him then if the years had strengthened or weakened his Christian\nfaith. We were racing up hill. He stopped suddenly on the hillside and\nregarded me with a searching earnestness, a solemnity that made me\nquake. Then he spoke slowly, more seriously:\n\n\"Dr. Talmage, my only hope for the world is in the bringing of the human\nmind into contact with divine revelation. Nearly all the men at the top\nin our country are believers in the Christian religion. The four leading\nphysicians of England are devout Christian men. I, myself, have been in\nthe Cabinet forty-seven years, and during all that time I have been\nassociated with sixty of the chief intellects of the century. I can\nthink of but five of those sixty who did not profess the Christian\nreligion, but those five men respected it. We may talk about questions\nof the day here and there, but there is only one question, and that is\nhow to apply the Gospel to all circumstances and conditions. It can and\nwill correct all that is wrong. Have you, in America, any of the\nterrible agnosticism that we have in Europe? I am glad none of my\nchildren are afflicted with it.\"\n\nI asked him if he did not believe that many people had no religion in\ntheir heads, but a good religion in their hearts.\n\n\"I have no doubt of it, and I can give you an illustration,\" he said.\n\n\"Yesterday, Lord Napier was buried in St. Paul's Cathedral. After the\nwar in Africa Lord Napier was here for a few days, at the invitation of\nMrs. Gladstone and myself, and we walked as we are walking now. He told\nme this story. I cannot remember his exact words. He said that just when\nthe troops were about to leave Africa there was a soldier with a broken\nleg. He was too sick to take along, but to leave him behind seemed\nbarbaric. Lord Napier ordered him to be carried, but he soon became too\nill to go any further. Lord Napier went to a native woman well known in\nthat country for her kindness, and asked her to take care of the\nsoldier. To ensure his care she was offered a good sum of money. I\nremember her reply as Lord Napier repeated it to me. 'No, I will not\ntake care of this wounded soldier for the money you offer me,' she said;\n'I have no need of the money. My father and mother have a comfortable\ntent, and I have a good tent; why should I take the money? If you will\nleave him here I will take care of him for the sake of the love of\nGod.'\"\n\nGladstone was in the thick of political scrimmage over Home Rule, and he\ntalked about it with me.\n\n\"It seems the dispensation of God that I should be in the battle,\" he\nsaid; \"but it is not to my taste. I never had any option in the matter.\nI dislike contests, but I could not decline this controversy without\ndisgrace. When Ireland showed herself ready to adopt a righteous\nconstitution, and do her full duty, I hesitated not an hour.\"\n\nTwo nights before, at a speech in Chester, Mr. Gladstone had declared\nthat the increase of the American navy would necessitate the increase of\nthe British navy. I rallied him about this statement, and he said, \"Oh!\nAmericans like to hear the plain truth. The fact is, the tie between the\ntwo nations is growing closer every year.\"\n\nIt was a bitter cold day and yet Mr. Gladstone wore only a very light\ncape, reaching scarcely to his knees.\n\n\"I need nothing more on me,\" he said; \"I must have my legs free.\"\n\nAfter luncheon he took me into his library, a wonderful place, a\ntreasure-house in itself, a bookman's palace. The books had been\narranged and catalogued according to a system of his own invention. He\nshowed many presents of American books and pictures sent to him.\n\n\"Outside of America there is no one who is bound to love it more than I\ndo,\" he said, \"you see, I am almost surrounded by the evidences of\nAmerican kindnesses.\" He gave me some books and pamphlets about himself,\nand his own Greek translation of \"Jesus, Lover of my Soul.\" Mrs.\nGladstone had been obliged to leave before we returned from our walk.\nMr. Gladstone took me into a room, however, and showed me a beautiful\nsculptured portrait of her, made when she was twenty-two.\n\n\"She is only two years younger than I am, but in complete health and\nvigour,\" he said proudly.\n\nHe came out upon the steps to bid me good-bye. Bareheaded, his white\nhair flowing in the wind, he stood in the cold and I begged him to go\nin. I expressed a wish that he might come to America.\n\n\"I am too old now,\" he said, wistfully, I thought.\n\n\"Is it the Atlantic you object to?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh! I am not afraid of the ocean,\" he said, as though there were\nperhaps some other reason.\n\n\"Tell your country I watch every turn of its history with a heart of\ninnermost admiration,\" he called after me. I carried Gladstone's message\nat once, going straight from Hawarden to America, as I had intended when\nleaving London.\n\nI was prepared for a reception in Brooklyn on my return, but I never\ndreamed it would be the ovation it was. It becomes difficult to write of\nthese personal courtesies, as I find them increasing in the progress of\nmy life from now on. I trust the casual reader will not construe\nanything in these pages into a boastful desire to spread myself in too\nlarge letters in print.\n\nWhen I entered the Thirteenth Regiment Armoury on the evening of\nFebruary 7, 1890, it was packed from top to floor. It was a large\nbuilding with its three acres of drill floor and its half mile of\ngalleries. There were over seven thousand people there, so the\nnewspapers estimated. Against the east wall was the speaker's platform,\nand over it in big letters of fire burned the word \"Welcome.\"\n\nOn the stage, when I arrived at eight o'clock, were Mayor Chapin,\nColonel Austen, General Alfred C. Barnes, the Rev. J. Benson Hamilton,\nJudge Clement, Mr. Andrew McLean, the Rev. Leon Harrison, ex-Mayor\nWhitney, the Hon. David A. Boody, U.S. Marshal Stafford, Judge Courtney,\nPostmaster Hendrix, John Y. Culver, Mark D. Wilber, Commissioner George\nV. Brower, the Rev. E.P. Terhune, General Horatio C. King, William E.\nRobinson and several others.\n\nThe Trustees of the Tabernacle, like a guard of honour, came in with\nme, and as we made our way through the crowds to the stage, the\nlong-continued cheering and applause were deafening. The band, assisted\nby the cornetist, Peter Ali, played \"Home, Sweet Home.\" For a few\nminutes I was very busy shaking hands.\n\nThe most inspiring moment of these preliminaries was the approach of the\nmost distinguished man in that vast assembly, General William T.\nSherman. He marched to the platform under military escort, while the\nband played \"Marching through Georgia.\" Everyone stood up in deference\nto the old warrior, handkerchiefs were waved, hats flew up in the air,\neveryone was so proud of him, so pleased to see him! Mayor Chapin\nintroduced the General, and as he stood patiently waiting for the\naudience to regain its self-control, the band played \"Auld Lang Syne.\"\nThen in the presence of that great crowd he gave me a soldier's welcome.\nI remember one sentence uttered by Sherman that night that revealed the\ncharacter of the great fighter when he said, \"The same God that appeared\nat Nazareth is here to-night.\"\n\nBut nothing on that auspicious evening was so great to me as when\nSherman spoke what he described as the soldier's welcome:\n\n\"How are you, old fellow, glad to see you!\" he said.\n\nThe building of the new Tabernacle, my third effort to establish an\nindependent church in Brooklyn, went on rapidly. We were planning then\nto open it in September, 1891. The church building alone was to cost\n$150,000. Its architectural beauty was in accord with the elegance of\nits fashionable neighbourhood on \"The Hill,\" as that residential part of\nBrooklyn was always described.\n\n\"The Hill\" was unique. When people in Brooklyn became tired of the rush\nand bustle of life they returned to Clinton Avenue. It was an idyllic\nvillage in the heart of the city. The front yards were as large as\nfarms. New Yorkers described this locality as \"Sleepy Hollow.\" On this\naccount, during my absence, there had developed in the neighbourhood\nsome opposition to the building of the new Tabernacle there. Some of the\nresidents were afraid it would disturb the quiet of the neighbourhood.\nThey opposed it as they would a base ball park, or a circus. They were\nafraid the organ would annoy the sparrows. The opposition went so far\nthat a subscription paper was passed around to induce us to go away. As\nmuch as $15,000 was raised to persuade us. These objections, however,\nwere confined to a few people, the majority realising the adornment the\nnew church would be to the neighbourhood. When I returned I found that\nthis opposing sentiment had described us as \"the Tabernacle Rabble.\" I\nwas in splendid health and spirits however, and refused to be downcast.\n\nDuring my absence our pews had been rented, realising $18,000. The\nlargest portion of these pews were rented by letter, and the balance at\na public meeting held in Temple Israel. The second gallery of the church\nwas free. The highest price paid in the rental for one pew for a year\nwas $75, the lowest was $20. In the interval, pending the completion of\nthe church, pew holders were given tickets for reserved seats in the\nAcademy of Music, where our Sunday services were held. There were 1,500\nfree seats in the second gallery of the new Tabernacle.\n\nIt was a great joy to find that the enterprise I had inaugurated before\nsailing for the Holy Land had made such good progress. But we were\nalways fortunate.\n\nI recall that my congregation was surprised one morning to learn that\nEmma Abbott, the beautiful American singer, had left a bequest of $5,000\nto the Brooklyn Tabernacle. I was not surprised. I had received a\nprivate note from her once expressing her kindly feeling toward our\nChurch and promising, in the event of her decease, to leave some\nremembrance to us. She always had a presentiment that her life was to be\nshort, and this always had a very depressing effect upon her. Her grief\nfor her husband's death hastened her own. She loved him with all her\nheart. She was a good woman. Mr. Beecher was a kind and loyal friend to\nher in her obscurer days. In those days Mr. Beecher brought her over\nfrom New York and put her in care of a Mrs. Bird in Brooklyn. Until she\nwent abroad she was helped in her musical education by these friends.\nShe attended Mr. Beecher's prayer meetings regularly. Everyone who met\nher felt that she was a noble-hearted woman of pure character and sweet\nsoul.\n\nOn February 9, 1890, I preached my first sermon since my return from the\nHoly Land in the Academy of Music. It was expected that I would preach\nabout the country of sacred memories that I had visited, but I was\nimpressed with what I had found on my return in religious history of a\nmore modern purpose. They had been fixing up the creeds while I was\nabroad, tracing the footsteps of divine law, and I felt the importance\nof this fact. So I chose the text in Joshua vi. 23, \"And the young men\nthat were spies went in and brought out Rahab, and her father and her\nmother, and her brethren, and all that she had.\"\n\nI did not read the newspapers while I was away so I was not familiar\nwith all the discussion. I understood, however, that they were revising\nthe creed. You might as well try to patch up your grandfather's\novercoat. It will be much better to get a new one. The recent sessions\nof the Presbytery had been divided into two parties. One was in favour\nof patching up the old overcoat, the other in favour of a new one. Dr.\nBriggs had pointed out the torn places--at least five of them. He had\nrevealed it, shabby and somewhat threadbare. Presbyterians had\npractically discarded the garment. Why should they want to flaunt any of\nits shreds? So I agreed with Dr. Briggs, that we had better get a new\none.\n\nThe laying of the corner stone of the new Tabernacle took place on the\nafternoon of February 11, 1890. It was a modest ceremony because it was\nconsidered wise to defer the festivities for the dedication services\nthat were to occur in the church itself in the spring. The two tin boxes\nplaced in the corner stone contained the records of the church\norganisation from 1854 to 1873, a copy of the Bible, coins of 1873,\nnewspaper accounts of the dedication of the old Tabernacle, copies of\nthe Brooklyn and New York newspapers, photographs of the trustees, a\n25-cent gold piece from the Philadelphia mint with the Lord's Prayer\nengraved on one side, drawing and plans of the new Tabernacle, and some\nColonial money dated 1759, 1771, 1773, 1774. During my trip in the Holy\nLand I had secured two stones, one from Mount Calvary and one from Mount\nSinai, which were to be placed in the Tabernacle later.\n\nThe \"Tabernacle Rabble,\" as the Philistines of Clinton Avenue called us,\ncontinued to meet in the Academy of Music with renewed vigour. My own\nduties became more exacting because of the additional work I had\nundertaken, of an editorial nature, on two periodicals.\n\nOf course my critics were always with me. What man or thing on earth is\nwithout these stimulants of one's energy. They were fair and unfair. I\ndid not care so much for my serious critics as my humorous ones.\nSolemnity when sustained by malice or bigotry is a bore. Some call it\nhypocrisy, but that is too clever for the tiresome critic. Frequently,\nin my scrap book, I kept the funny comments about myself.\n\nHere is one from the \"Chicago American,\" published in 1890:--\n\n    When Talmage the terrible shouts his \"God-speed\"\n      To illit'rate (and worse) immigration,\n    Who knows but his far-seeing mind feels a need\n      Of recruits for his mix'd congregation?\n    And when he, self-made gateman of Heaven, says he's glad\n      To rake in, on his free invitation,\n    The fit and the unfit, the good and the bad,\n      Put it down to his tall-'mag-ination.--_Pan._\n\nMy critics were particularly wrought up again on my return from\nPalestine over my finances. What a crime it was, they said, for a\nminister to be a millionaire! Had I really been one how much more I\ncould have helped some of them along. Finally the subject became most\nwearisome, and I gave out some actual facts. From this data it was\nrevealed that I was worth about $200,000, considerably short of one\nmillion. In actual cash it was finally declared that I was only worth\n$100,000. My house in Brooklyn, which I bought shortly after my\npastorate began there, cost $35,000. I paid $5,000 cash, and obtained\neasy terms on a mortgage for the balance. It was worth $60,000 in 1890.\nMy country residence at East Hampton was estimated to be worth $20,000.\nI owned a few lots on the old Coney Island road. My investments of any\nsurplus funds I had were in 5 per cent. mortgages. I had as much as\n$80,000 invested in this way since I had begun these operations in\n1882. Most of the mortgages were on private residences. I mention these\nfacts that there may be no jealous feeling against me among other\nmillionaires. Because of my reputation for wealth I was sometimes\nincluded among New York's fashionable clergymen. I deny that I was ever\nany such thing, and I almost believe such a thing never was, but I find,\nin my scrapbook, a contemporaneous list of them.\n\nDr. Morgan Dix, of Trinity Church, with a salary of $15,000, heads the\nlist, Dr. Brown of St. Thomas' Church, received the same amount; so did\nDr. Huntington of Grace Church, and Dr. Greer of St. Bartholomew's. The\nBishop of the diocese received no more. Dr. Rainsford of St. George's\nChurch received $10,000, and like Dr. Greer, possessing a private\nfortune, he turned his salary over to the church. The clergymen of the\nMethodist Episcopal churches were not so rich. The Bishop of New York\nreceived only $5,000. The pastor of St. Paul's, on Fourth Avenue,\nreceived the same amount, so did the pastor of the Madison Avenue\nChurch.\n\nThe Presbyterian pulpits were filled with some of the ablest preachers\nin New York. Dr. John Hall of the Fifth Avenue Church received the\nsalary of $30,000, Dr. Paxton $10,000, Dr. Parkhurst and Dr. C.C.\nThompson $8,000 respectively. Dr. Robert Collyer of the Park Avenue\nUnitarian Church, received $10,000, and Dr. William M. Taylor of the\nBroadway Tabernacle the same amount.\n\nI was included among these \"men of fashion,\" much to my surprise. This\nfact, forced upon me by contemporary opinion, did not have anything to\ndo with what happened in the spring of 1891, though it was applied in\nthat way. My congregation were not told about it until it was too late\nto interfere. This I thought wise because there might have been some\nopposition to my course. I kept it a secret because it was not a matter\nI could discuss with any dignity. Then, too, I realised that it was\ngoing to affect the entire brotherhood of newspaper artists, especially\nthe cartoonists. I shuddered when I thought of the embarrassment this\nact of mine would cause the country editor with only one Talmage woodcut\nof many years in his art department. So I did it quietly, without\nconsultation.\n\nIn the spring of 1891 I shaved my whiskers.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIFTEENTH MILESTONE\n\n1891-1892\n\n\nOn April 26, 1891, the new Tabernacle was opened. There were three\ndedication services and thousands of people came. I was fifty-nine years\nof age. Up to this time everything had been extraordinary in its\nconflict, its warnings. I found myself, after over thirty years of\nservice to the Gospel, pastor of the biggest Protestant church in the\nworld. It seems to me there were more men of indomitable success during\nmy career in America than at any other time. There were so many\nself-made men, so many who compelled the world to listen, and feel and\ndo as they believed--men of remarkable energy, of prophetic genius.\n\nEverywhere in England I had been asked about Cyrus W. Field. He was the\nhero of the nineteenth century. In his days of sickness and trouble the\nworld remembered him. Of all the population of the earth he was the one\nman who believed that a wire could be strung across the Atlantic. It\ntook him twelve years of incessant toil and fifty voyages across the\nAtlantic. I remember well, in 1857, when the cable broke, how everyone\njoined in the great chorus of \"I told you so.\" There was a great jubilee\nin that choral society of wise know-nothings. Thirty times the grapnel\nsearched the bottom of the sea and finally caught the broken cable, and\nthe pluck and ingenuity of Cyrus W. Field was celebrated. Ocean\ncablegrams had ceased to be a curiosity, but some of us remember the day\nwhen they were. I kept a memorandum of the two first messages across the\nAtlantic that passed between Queen Victoria and President Buchanan in\nthe summer of 1858.\n\nFrom England, in the Queen's name, came this:\n\n    \"To the President of the United States, Washington--\n\n    \"The Queen desires to congratulate the President upon the successful\n    completion of this great international work, in which the Queen has\n    taken the deepest interest. The Queen is convinced that the\n    President will join with her in fervently hoping that the electric\n    cable which now connects Great Britain with the United States will\n    prove an additional link between the nations whose friendship is\n    founded upon their common interest and reciprocal esteem. The Queen\n    has much pleasure in thus communicating with the President and\n    renewing to him her wishes for the prosperity of the United States.\"\n\nThe President's answering cable was as follows:\n\n    \"To Her Majesty Victoria, Queen of Great Britain--\n\n    \"The President cordially reciprocates the congratulations of Her\n    Majesty the Queen on the success of the great international\n    enterprise accomplished by the science, skill, and indomitable\n    energy of the two countries. It is a triumph more glorious than was\n    ever won by any conquest on the field of battle. May the Atlantic\n    telegraph, under the blessing of Heaven, prove to be a bond of\n    perpetual peace and friendship between the kindred nations and an\n    instrument designed by Divine Providence to diffuse religion,\n    civilisation, liberty and law throughout the world. In this view\n    will not all nations of Christendom spontaneously unite in the\n    declaration that it shall be forever neutral, and that its\n    communications shall be held sacred in passing to their destination,\n    even in the midst of hostilities.\n\n    \"JAMES BUCHANAN.\"\n\nIt is interesting to compare the elemental quality, the inner character\nof these national flashes of feeling, that came so comparatively soon\nafter the days of the revolution in America. It was a sort of prose\npoetry of the new century. This recollection came back to me, on my\nreturn from Europe, upon the opening of the new Tabernacle, a symbol of\nthe eternal human progress of the world. Materially and spiritually we\nwere striving ahead, men of affairs, men of religion, philosophers,\nscientists, and poets.\n\nI was present in 1891 at the celebration of Whittier's eighty-fourth\nbirthday. He was on the bright side of eighty then. The schools\ncelebrated the day, so should the churches have done, for he was a\nChristian poet.\n\nJohn Greenleaf Whittier was a Quaker. That means that he was a genial,\nkind, good man--a simple man. I spent an afternoon with him once in a\nbarn. We were summering in the mountains near by. We found ourselves in\nthe barn, where we stretched out on the hay. The world had not spoiled\nthe simplicity of his nature. It was an afternoon of pastoral peace,\nwith one who had written himself into the heart of a nation. How much I\nlearned from that man's childlikeness and simplicity!\n\nIf he had lived to be a hundred he would still have remained young. The\nlong flight of years had not tired his spirit, for wherever the English\nlanguage is spoken he will always live. He was born in Christmas week, a\nspirit in human shape, come to earth to keep it forever young. He was\nthe bell-ringer of all youthful ages. And yet he remembered also those\nwho for any reason could not join in the merriment of the holidays. To\nthose I recommend Whittier's poem, in which he celebrates the rescue of\ntwo Quakers who had been fined L10 for attending church instead of going\nto a Quaker Meeting House, and not being able to pay the fine were first\nimprisoned and then sold as slaves, but no ship master consenting to\ncarry them into slavery they were liberated. The closing stanza of this\npoem is worth remembering:--\n\n    \"Now, let the humble ones arise,\n      The poor in heart be glad,\n    And let the mourning ones again\n      With robes of praise be clad;\n    For He who cooled the furnace,\n      And smoothed the stormy wave,\n    And turned the Chaldean lions,\n      Is mighty still to save.\"\n\nThe new Tabernacle more than met our expectations. From the day we\nopened it, it was a great blessing. It seated 6,000 persons, and when\ncrowded held 7,000. There was still some debt on the building, for the\nentire enterprise had cost us about $400,000. There were regrets\nexpressed that we did not follow the elaborate custom of some\nfashionable churches in these days and introduce into our services\noperatic music. I preferred the simple form of sacred music--a cornet\nand organ. Everybody should get his call from God, and do his work in\nhis own way. I never had any sympathy with dogmatics. There is no church\non earth in which there is more freedom of utterance than in the\nPresbyterian church.\n\n[Illustration: THE THIRD BROOKLYN TABERNACLE.]\n\nWe were in the midst of a religious conflict on many sacred questions in\n1892. There came upon us a plague called Higher Criticism. My idea of it\nwas that Higher Criticism meant lower religion. The Bible seemed to me\nentirely satisfactory. The chief hindrance to the Gospel was this\neverlasting picking at the Bible by people who pretended to be its\nfriends, but who themselves had never been converted. The Higher\nCriticism was only a flurry. The world started as a garden and it will\nclose as a garden. That there may be no false impression of the sublime\ndestiny of the world as I see it, let me add that it is not a garden of\nidleness and pleasure, but a vineyard in which all must labour from\nearly morning till the glory of sundown wraps us in its revival robes of\ngolden splendour.\n\nWhat a changing, hurrying world of desperate means it is. What a mirage\nof towering ambition is the whole of life! I have so often wondered why\nmen, great men of heart and brain, should ever die out, though they pass\non to live forever under brighter skies.\n\nIn January, 1892, Congressman William E. Robinson was buried from our\nchurch, and in February of the same month Spurgeon died in England.\nThough men may live at swords' points with each other they die in peace.\nThis last forgetfulness is some of the beautiful moss that grows on the\nruins of poor human nature.\n\nCongressman Robinson was among the gifted men of his time. His friends\nwere giants, his work was constructive, his pen an instrument of\nliterary force. He landed in America with less than a sovereign in his\npocket, and achieved prominence in national and State affairs. I knew\nhim well and respected him.\n\nThere is an affinity of souls on earth and doubtless in heaven. We seek\nthose who are our kindred souls when we reach there. In this respect I\nalways feel a sense of gratitude, of cheerfulness for those who have\npassed on. My old friend, Charles H. Spurgeon, in February, 1892, made\nhis last journey; and I am sure that the first whom he picked out in\nheaven were the souls of Jonathan Edwards and John Calvin--two men of\ntremendous evangelism. I first met Spurgeon in London in 1872.\n\n\"I read your sermons,\" I said to him first.\n\n\"Everybody reads yours,\" he replied.\n\nSpurgeon made a long battle against disease; the last few months in\nagony. His name is on the honour roll of the world's history, but for\nmany years he was caricatured and assailed. He kept a scrap-book of the\nprinted blasphemy against him. The first picture I ever saw of him\nrepresented him as sliding down the railing of his pulpit in the\npresence of his congregation, to show how easy it was to go to hell, and\nthen climbing up on the opposite railing to show how difficult it was to\nget to heaven. Most people at the time actually believed that he had\ndone this.\n\nIn this same month Dr. Mackenzie, the famous physician, died, and my old\nfriend, the Rev. Dr. Hanna of Belfast, the leading Protestant minister\nof Ireland. Out of the darkness into the light; out of the struggle into\nvictory; out of earth into Heaven!\n\nThere was always mercy on earth, however, for those who remained. Mercy!\nThe biggest word in the human language! I remember how it impressed me,\nwhen, at the invitation of Dr. Leslie Keeley, the inventor of the \"Gold\nCure\" for drunkenness, I visited his institution at Dwight, Ill. It was\na new thing then and a most merciful miracle of the age. It settled no\nquestion, perhaps, but intensified the blessings of reformed thought.\n\nThere were questions that could not be solved, however, questions of\nindustrial moment that we almost despaired of. The tariff was one of\nthem. I felt convinced that the tariff question would never be settled.\nThe grandchildren of every generation will always be discussing it, and\nthresh out the same old straw which the Democrats and Republicans were\ndiscussing before them. When I was a boy only eight years old the tariff\nwas discussed just as warmly as it will ever be. Like my friend Henry\nWatterson, of Kentucky, I was a Free Trader. Politics were so mixed up\nit was difficult to see ahead. Cleveland was after Hill and Hill was\nafter Cleveland; that alone was clear to everybody.\n\nFor my own satisfaction, in the spring of 1892, I went to see what\nWashington was really doing, thinking, living. It had improved morally\nand politically, its streets were still the trail of the mighty. A great\nchange had taken place there.\n\nA higher type of men had taken possession of our national halls.\nDuelling, once common, was entirely abolished, and a Senator who would\nchallenge a fellow-member to fight would make himself a laughing-stock.\nNo more clubbing of Senators on account of opposite opinions! Mr. Covode\nof Pennsylvania, no longer brandished a weapon over the head of Mr.\nBarksdale of Mississippi. Grow and Keitt no more took each other by the\nthroat. Griswold no more pounded Lyon, Lyon snatching the tongs and\nstriking back until the two members in a scuffle rolled on the floor of\nthe great American Congress. One of the Senators of twenty-five years\nago died in Flatbush Hospital, idiotic from his dissipations. One member\nof Congress I saw years ago seated drunk on the curbstone in\nPhiladelphia, his wife trying to coax him home. A Senator from New York\nmany years ago on a cold day was picked out of the Potomac, into which\nhe had dropped through his intoxication, the only time that he ever came\nso near losing his life by too much cold water. Talk not about the good\nold days, for the new days in Washington were far better. There was John\nSherman of the Senate, a moral, high-minded, patriotic and talented man.\nI said to him as I looked up into his face: \"How tall are you?\" and his\nanswer was, \"Six feet one inch and a half;\" and I thought to myself \"You\nare a tall man every way, with mental stature over-towering like the\nphysical.\" There was Senator Daniel of Virginia, magnetic to the last\ndegree, and when he spoke all were thrilled while they listened. Fifteen\nyears ago, at Lynchburg, Va., I said to him: \"The next time I see you, I\nwill see you in the United States Senate.\" \"No, no,\" he replied, \"I am\nnot on the winning side. I am too positive in my opinions.\" I greeted\nhim amid the marble walls of the Senate with the words \"Didn't I tell\nyou so?\" \"Yes,\" he said, \"I remember your prophecy.\" There also were\nSenators Colquitt and Gordon of Georgia, at home whether in secular or\nreligious assemblages, pronounced Christian gentlemen, and both of them\ntremendous in utterance. There was Senator Carey of Wyoming, who was a\nboy in my church debating society at Philadelphia, his speech at\neighteen years demonstrating that nothing in the way of grand\nachievement would be impossible. There was Senator Manderson of\nNebraska, his father and mother among my chief supporters in\nPhiladelphia, the Senator walking about as though he cared nothing about\nthe bullets which he had carried ever since the war, of which he was one\nof the heroes. Brooklyn was proud of her Congressmen. I heard our\nrepresentative, Mr. Coombs, speak, and whether his hearers agreed or\ndisagreed with his sentiments on the tariff question, all realised that\nhe knew what he was talking about, and his easy delivery and point-blank\nmanner of statement were impressive. So, also, at the White House,\nwhether people liked the Administration or disliked it, all reasonable\npersons agreed that good morals presided over the nation, and that\nwell-worn jest about the big hat of the grandfather, President William\nHenry Harrison, being too ample for the grandson, President Benjamin\nHarrison, was a witticism that would soon be folded up and put out of\nsight. Anybody who had carefully read the 120 addresses delivered by\nPresident Benjamin Harrison on his tour across the continent knew that\nhe had three times the brain ever shown by his grandfather. Great men, I\nnoticed at Washington, were great only a little while. The men I saw\nthere in high places fifteen years ago had nearly all gone. One\nvenerable man, seated in the Senate near the Vice-President's chair, had\nbeen there since he was introduced as a page at 10 years of age by\nDaniel Webster. But a few years change the most of the occupants of high\npositions. How rapidly the wheel turns. Call the roll of Jefferson's\nCabinet? Dead! Call the roll of Madison's Cabinet? Dead! Call the roll\nof Monroe's Cabinet? Dead! Call the roll of Pierce's Cabinet? Dead! Call\nthe roll of Abraham Lincoln's Cabinet? Dead! The Congressional burying\nground in the city of Washington had then 170 cenotaphs raised in honour\nof members.\n\nWhile I was in Chicago, in the spring of 1892, there came about an\nalmost national discussion as to whether the World's Fair should be kept\nopen on Sunday. Nearly all the ministers foresaw empty churches if the\nfair were kept open.\n\nIn spite of the personal malice against me of one of the great editors\nof New York, the people did not seem to lose their confidence in the\nChristian spirit. Both Dr. Parkhurst and myself were the targets of this\nbrilliant man's sarcasm and satire at this time, but neither of us were\ndemoralised or injured in the course of our separate ways of duty.\n\nIn the summer of 1892 the working plans of what the newspapers\ngenerously called my vacation took me to Europe on a tour of Great\nBritain and Ireland, including a visit to Russia, to await the arrival\nof a ship-load of food sent by the religious weekly of which I was\neditor. Some criticism was made of the way I worked instead of rested in\nvacation time.\n\nSomeone asked me if I believed in dreams. I said, no; I believed in\nsleep, but not in dreams. The Lord, in olden times, revealed Himself in\ndreams, but I do not think He does so often now. When I was at school we\nparsed from \"Young's Night Thoughts,\" but I had no very pleasant\nmemories of that book. I had noticed that dreamers are often the prey of\nconsumption. It seems to have a fondness for exquisite natures--dreamy,\nspiritual, a foe of the finest part of the human family. There was Henry\nKirke White, the author of that famous hymn, \"When Marshalled on the\nNightly Plains,\" who, dying of consumption, wrote it with two feet in\nthe grave, and recited it with power when he could not move from his\nchair.\n\nWe sailed on the \"New York,\" June 15, 1892, for Europe. This preaching\ntour in England was urged upon me by ties of friendship, made years\nbefore, by the increased audiences I had already gained through my\npublic sermons, and of my own hearty desire to see them all face to\nface. My first sermon in London was given on June 25, 1892, in the City\nTemple, by invitation of that great English preacher, Dr. Joseph Parker.\nWhen my sermon was over, Dr. Parker said to his congregation:--\n\n\"I thank God for Dr. Talmage's life and ministry, and I despise the man\nwho cannot appreciate his services to Christianity. May he preach in\nthis pulpit again!\"\n\nOn leaving his church I was obliged to address the crowd outside from my\ncarriage. Nothing can be so gratifying to a preacher as the faith of the\npeople he addresses in his faith. In England the religious spirit is\ndeeply rooted. I could not help feeling, as I saw that surging mass of\nmen and women outside the City Temple in London after the service, how\nearnest they all were in their exertions to hear the Gospel. In my own\ncountry I had been used to crowds that were more curious in their\nattitude, less reverent of the occasion. Dr. Parker's description of the\nsermon after it was over expressed the effect of my Gospel message upon\nthat crowd in England.\n\nHe said: \"That is the most sublime, pathetic and impressive appeal we\never listened to. It has kindled the fire of enthusiasm in our souls\nthat will burn on for ever. It has unfolded possibilities of the pulpit\nnever before reached. It has stirred all hearts with the holiest\nambition.\"\n\nSo should every sermon, preached in every place in the world on every\nSunday in the world, be a message from God and His angels!\n\nThe sustaining enthusiasm of my friend, Dr. Parker, and his people at\nthe City Temple, preceded me everywhere in England, and established a\nseries of experiences in my evangelical work that surprised and\nenthralled me.\n\nIn Nottingham I was told that Albert Hall, where I preached, could not\nhold over 3,000 people. That number of tickets for my sermon were\ndistributed from the different pulpits in the city, but hundreds were\ndisappointed and waited for me outside afterwards. This was no personal\ntribute to me, but to the English people, to whom my Gospel message was\nof serious import. The text I used most during this preaching tour was\nfrom Daniel xi. 2: \"The people that do know their God shall be strong\nand do exploits.\" It applied to the people of Great Britain and they\nresponded and understood.\n\nIn a more concrete fashion I was privileged to witness also the\ntremendous influence of religious feeling in England at the banquet\ntendered by the Lord Mayor at the Mansion House on July 3, 1892, to the\nArchbishops and Bishops of England. The Archbishop of Canterbury, the\nBishop of London, and the diocesan bishops were present. The Lord Mayor,\nin his address, said that the association between the Church and the\nCorporation of London had been close, long, and continuous. In that\nyear, he said, the Church had spent on buildings and restorations\nthirty-five million pounds; on home missions, seven and a half millions;\non foreign missions, ten millions; on elementary education, twenty-one\nmillions; and in charity, six millions. What a stupendous evidence of\nthe religious spirit in England! A toast was proposed to the \"Ministers\nof other Denominations,\" which included the Rev. Dr. Newman Hall and\nmyself of America, among other foreign guests. To this I responded.\n\nBefore leaving for Russia I met a part of the American colony in London\nat a reception given by Mr. Lincoln, our Minister to England. We\ngathered to celebrate the Fourth of July. Mrs. Mackey, Mrs. Paran\nStevens, Mrs. Bradley Martin, and Mrs. Bonynge received among others.\nPhillips Brooks and myself were among the clerical contingent, with such\nAmericans abroad as Colonel Tom Ochiltree, Buffalo Bill, General and\nMrs. Williams, A.M. Palmer, Mrs. New, the Consul-General's wife, Mr. and\nMrs. John Collins, Senators Farwell and McDonald.\n\nWhile travelling in England I saw John Ruskin. This fact contains more\nhappiness to me than I can easily make people understand. I wanted to\nsee him more than any other man, crowned or uncrowned. When I was in\nEngland at other times Mr. Ruskin was always absent or sick, but this\ntime I found him. I was visiting the Lake district of England, and one\nafternoon I took a drive that will be for ever memorable. I said, \"Drive\nout to Mr. Ruskin's place,\" which was some eight miles away. The\nlandlord from whom I got the conveyance said, \"You will not be able to\nsee Mr. Ruskin. No one sees him or has seen him for years.\" Well, I have\na way of keeping on when I start. After an hour and a half of a\ndelightful ride we entered the gates of Mr. Ruskin's home. The door of\nthe vine-covered, picturesque house was open, and I stood in the\nhall-way. Handing my card to a servant I said, \"I wish to see Mr.\nRuskin.\" The reply was, \"Mr. Ruskin is not in, and he never sees\nanyone.\" Disappointed, I turned back, took the carriage and went down\nthe road. I said to the driver, \"Do you know Mr. Ruskin when you see\nhim?\" \"Yes,\" said he; \"but I have not seen him for years.\" We rode on a\nfew moments, then the driver cried out to me, \"There he comes now.\" In a\nminute we had arrived at where Mr. Ruskin was walking toward us. I\nalighted, and he greeted me with a quiet manner and a genial smile. He\nlooked like a great man worn out; beard full and tangled; soft hat drawn\ndown over his forehead; signs of physical weakness with determination\nnot to show it. His valet walked beside him ready to help or direct his\nsteps. He deprecated any remarks appreciatory of his wonderful services.\nHe had the appearance of one whose work is completely done, and is\nwaiting for the time to start homeward. He was in appearance more like\nmyself than any person I ever saw, and if I should live to be his age\nthe likeness will be complete.\n\nI did not think then that Mr. Ruskin would ever write another paragraph.\nHe would continue to saunter along the English lane very slowly, his\nvalet by his side, for a year or two, and then fold his hands for his\nlast sleep. Then the whole world would speak words of gratitude and\npraise which it had denied him all through the years in which he was\nlaboriously writing \"Modern Painters,\" \"The Seven Lamps of\nArchitecture,\" \"The Stones of Venice,\" and \"Ethics of the Dust.\" We\ncannot imagine what the world's literature would have been if Thomas\nCarlyle and John Ruskin had never entered it. I shall never forget how\nin the early years of my ministry I picked up in Wynkoop's store, in\nSyracuse, for the first time, one of Ruskin's works. I read that book\nunder the trees, because it was the best place to read it. Ruskin was\nthe first great interpreter of the language of leaves, of clouds, of\nrivers, of lakes, of seas.\n\nIn July, 1892,1 went to Russia. It was summer in the land of snow and\nice, so that we saw it in the glow of sunny days, in the long\ngold-tipped twilights of balmy air. In America we still regarded Russia\nas a land of cruel mystery and imperial oppression. There was as much\nignorance about the Russians, their Government, their country, as there\nwas about the Fiji Islands. Americans had been taught that Siberia was\nRussia, that Russia and Siberia were the same, one vast infinite waste\nof misery and cruelty. Granted that I went to Russia on an errand of\nmercy, and as a representative of the most powerful nation in the world,\nnevertheless I contend that the Russian people and their Government were\nhugely misrepresented. There was no need for the Emperor of Russia to\ngive audience to so humble a representative as a minister of the Gospel\nunless he had been sincerely touched by the evidence of American\ngenerosity and mercy for his starving peasants in Central Russia. His\ncourtesy and reception of me was a complete contradiction of his\nreported arrogance and hard-heartedness. There was no need for the Town\nCouncil of St. Petersburg to honour myself and my party with receptions\nand dinners, and there was no reason for the enthusiasm and cheers of\nthe Russian people in the streets unless they were intensely kind and\nenthusiastic in nature. When the famine conditions occurred in the ten\nprovinces of Russia a relief committee was formed in St. Petersburg,\nwith the Grand Duke himself at the head of it, and such men as Count\nTolstoi and Count Bobrinsky in active assistance. America answered the\nappeal for food, but their was sincere sympathy and compassion for\ntheir compatriots in the imperial circles of Russia.\n\nIn the famine districts, which were vast enough to hold several nations,\na drought that had lasted for six consecutive years had devastated the\ncountry. According to the estimate of the Russian Famine Relief\nCommittee we saved the lives of 125,000 Russians.\n\nAs at the hunger relief stations the bread was handed out--for it was\nmade into loaves and distributed--many people would halt before taking\nit and religiously cross themselves and utter a prayer for the donors.\nSome of them would come staggering back and say:--\n\n\"Please tell us who sent this bread to us?\" And when told it came from\nAmerica, they would say: \"What part of America? Please give us the names\nof those who sent it.\"\n\nMy visit to the Czar of Russia, Alexander III., was made at the Imperial\nPalace. I was ushered into a small, very plain apartment, in which I\nfound the Emperor seated alone, quietly engaged with his official cares.\nHe immediately arose, extended his hand with hearty cordiality, and said\nin the purest English, as he himself placed a chair for me beside his\ntable, \"Doctor Talmage, I am very happy to meet you.\"\n\nThis was the beginning of a long conversation during which the Emperor\nmanifested both the liveliest interest and thorough familiarity with\nAmerican politics, and, after a lengthy discussion of everything\nAmerican, the Emperor said, \"Dr. Talmage, you must see my eldest son,\nNicholas,\" with which he touched a bell, calling his aide-de-camp, who\npromptly summoned the Grand Duke Nicholas, who appeared with the\nyoungest daughter of the Emperor skipping along behind him--a plump,\nbright little girl of probably eight or nine years. She jumped upon the\nEmperor's lap and threw her arms about his neck. When she had been\nintroduced to me she gave \"The American gentleman\" the keenest scrutiny\nof which her sparkling eyes were capable. The Grand Duke was a fine\nyoung man, of about twenty-five years of age, tall, of athletic build,\ngraceful carriage, and noticeably amiable features. On being introduced\nto me the Grand Duke extended his hand and said, \"Dr. Talmage, I am also\nglad to meet you, for we all feel that we have become acquainted with\nyou through your sermons, in which we have found much interest and\nreligious edification.\"\n\nNoticing the magnificent physique of both father and son, I asked the\nEmperor, when the conversation turned incidentally upon matters of\nhealth, what he did to maintain such fine strength in the midst of all\nthe cares of State. He replied, \"Doctor, the secret of my strength is in\nmy physical exercise. This I never fail to take regularly and freely\nevery day before I enter upon any of the work of my official duties, and\nto it I attribute the excellent health which I enjoy.\"\n\nThe Emperor insisted that I should see the Empress and the rest of the\nImperial Family, and we proceeded to another equally plain,\nunpretentious apartment where, with her daughters, we found the Empress.\nAfter a long conversation, and just as I was leaving, I asked the\nEmperor whether there was much discontent among the nobility as a result\nof the emancipation among the serfs, and he replied, \"Yes, all the\ntrouble with my empire arises from the turbulence and discontent of the\nnobility. The people are perfectly quiet and contented.\"\n\nA reference was made to the possibility of war, and I remember the fear\nwith which the Empress entered into the talk just then, saying \"We all\ndread war. With our modern equipments it could be nothing short of\nmassacre, and from that we hope we may be preserved.\"\n\nMy presentation at Peterhoff Palace to Alexander III. and the royal\nfamily of Russia was entirely an unexpected event in my itinerary. It\nwas in the nature of a compliment to my mission, to the American people\nwho have contributed so much to the distress in Russia, and to the\nChristian Church for which this \"hardhearted, cruel Czar\" had so much\nrespect and so much interest. It was said that in common with all\nAmericans I expected to find the Emperor attired in some bomb-proof\nregalia. Perhaps I was impressed with the Czar's indifference and\nfearlessness. Someone said to me that no doubt he was quite used to the\nthought of assassination. I discovered, in a long conversation that I\nhad with him, that he was ready to die, and when a man is ready why\nshould he be afraid?\n\nThe most significant and important outcome of this presentation to the\nCzar was his pledge to my countrymen that Russia would always remember\nthe generosity of the American people in their future relations.\nEverywhere in St. Petersburg and Moscow, the Russian and American flags\nwere displayed together on the public buildings, so that I look back\nupon this occasion with a pardonable impression of its international\nimportance. There was a suggestion of this feeling in an address\npresented to us by the City Council of St. Petersburg, in which a\ngraceful remembrance was made of that occasion in 1868, when a special\nembassy from the United States, with Mr. G.V. Fox, a Cabinet officer, at\nits head, visited St. Petersburg and expressed sympathy for Russia and\nits Sovereign.\n\nReturning from Russia, I continued my preaching tour in England,\npreaching to immense crowds, estimated in the English newspapers to be\nfrom fifteen to twenty thousand people, in the large cities. In\nBirmingham the crowd followed me into the hotel, where it was necessary\nto lock the doors to keep them out. What incalculable kindness I\nreceived in England! I remember a farewell banquet given me at the\nCrystal Palace by twenty Nonconformists, at which I was presented with a\ngold watch from my English friends; and a scene in Swansea, when, after\nmy sermon, they sang Welsh hymns to me in their native language.\n\nSome people wonder how I have kept in such good humour with the world\nwhen I have been at times violently assailed or grossly misrepresented.\nIt was because the kindnesses towards me have predominated. For the past\nthirty or forty years the mercies have carried the day. If I went to the\ndepot there was a carriage to meet me. If I tarried at the hotel some\none mysteriously paid the bill. If I were attacked in newspaper or\nchurch court there were always those willing to take up for me the\ncudgels. If I were falsified the lie somehow turned out to my advantage.\nMy enemies have helped me quite as much as my friends. If I preached or\nlectured I always had a crowd. If I had a boil it was almost always in a\ncomfortable place. If my church burned down I got a better one. I\noffered a manuscript to a magazine, hoping to get for it forty dollars,\nwhich I much needed at the time. The manuscript was courteously returned\nas not being available; but that article for which I could not get forty\ndollars has since, in other uses, brought me forty thousand dollars. The\ncaricaturists have sent multitudes of people to hear me preach and\nlecture. I have had antagonists; but if any man of my day has had more\nwarm personal friends I do not know his name.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SIXTEENTH MILESTONE\n\n1892-1895\n\n\nI had only one fault to find with the world in my sixty years of travel\nover it and that was it had treated me too well. In the ordinary course\nof events, and by the law of the Psalmist, I still had ten more years\nbefore me; but, according to my own calculations, life stretched\nbrilliantly ahead of me as far as heart and mind could wish. There were\nmany things to take into consideration. There was the purpose of the\nfuture, its obligations, its opportunities to adjust. My whole life had\nbeen a series of questions. My course had been the issue of problems, a\nchoice of many ways.\n\nShortly after the dawn of 1893 the financial difficulties in which the\nNew Tabernacle had been reared confronted us. It had arisen from the\nashes of its predecessor by sheer force of energy and pluck. It had\ntaken a vast amount of negotiation. A loan of $125,000, made to us by\nRussell Sage, payable in one year at 6 per cent., was one of the means\nemployed. This loan was arranged by Mr. A.L. Soulard, the president of\nthe German-American Title and Guarantee Company. Mr. Sage was a friend\nof mine, of my church, and that was some inducement. The loan was made\nupon the guarantee of the Title Company. It was reported to me that Mr.\nSage had said at this time:--\n\n\"It all depends upon whether Dr. Talmage lives or not. If he should\nhappen to die the Brooklyn Tabernacle wouldn't be worth much.\"\n\nThe German-American Title and Guarantee Company then secured an\ninsurance on my life for $25,000 and insisted that the Board of Trustees\nof the church give their individual bonds for the fulfillment of the\nmortgage. The trustees were W.D. Mead, F.H. Branch, John Wood, C.S.\nDarling, F.M. Lawrence, and James B. Ferguson. In this way Mr. Sage\nsatisfied both his religious sympathies and his business nature. For\nmore reasons than one, therefore, I kept myself in perfect health. This\nwas only one of the incidents involved in the building of the New\nTabernacle. For two years I had donated my salary of $12,000 a year to\nthe church, and had worked hard incessantly to infuse it with life and\nsuccess. This information may serve to contradict some scattered\nimpressions made by our friendly critics, that my personal aim in life\nwas mercenary and selfish. My income from my lectures, and the earnings\nfrom my books and published sermons, were sufficient for all my needs.\n\nDuring the year 1893 I did my best to stem the tide of debt and\nembarrassment in which the business elements of the church was involved.\nI find an entry in my accounts of a check dated March 27, 1893, in\nBrooklyn, for $10,000, which I donated to the Brooklyn Tabernacle\nEmergency Fund. There is a spiritual warning in almost every practical\nevent of our lives, and it seemed that in that year, so discomforting to\nthe New Tabernacle, there was a spiritual warning to me which grew into\na certainty of feeling that my work called me elsewhere. I said nothing\nof this to anyone, but quietly thought the situation over without haste\nor undue prejudice. My Gospel field was a big one. The whole world\naccepted the Gospel as I preached it, and I concluded that it did not\nmake much difference where the pulpit was in which I preached.\n\nAfter a full year's consideration of the entire outlook, in January,\n1894, I announced my resignation as pastor of the Tabernacle, to take\neffect in the spring of that year. I gave no other cause than that I\nfelt that I had been in one place long enough. An attempt was made by\nthe Press to interpret my action into a private difference of opinion\nwith the trustees of the church--but this was not true. All sorts of\nplans were proposed for raising the required sum of our expensive church\nmanagement, in which I concurred and laboured heartily. It was said that\nI resigned because the trustees were about to decide in favour of\ncharging a nominal fee of ten cents to attend our services. I made no\nobjection to this. My resignation was a surprise to the congregation\nbecause I had not indicated my plans or intimated to them my own private\nexpectations of the remaining years of my life.\n\nOn Sunday, January 22, 1894, among the usual church announcements made\nfrom the pulpit, I read the following statement, which I had written on\na slip of paper:--\n\n\"This coming spring I will have been pastor of this church twenty-five\nyears--a quarter of a century--long enough for any minister to preach in\none place. At that anniversary I will resign this pulpit, and it will be\noccupied by such person as you may select.\n\n\"Though the work has been arduous, because of the unparalleled necessity\nof building three great churches, two of them destroyed by fire, the\nfield has been delightful and blessed by God. No other congregation has\never been called to build three churches, and I hope no other pastor\nwill ever be called to such an undertaking.\n\n\"My plans after resignation have not been developed, but I shall preach\nboth by voice and newspaper press, as long as my life and health are\ncontinued.\n\n\"From first to last we have been a united people, and my fervent thanks\nare to all the Boards of Trustees and Elders, whether of the present or\npast, and to all the congregation, and to New York and Brooklyn.\n\n\"I have no vocabulary intense enough to express my gratitude to the\nnewspaper press of these cities for the generous manner in which they\nhave treated me and augmented my work for this quarter of a century.\n\n\"After such a long pastorate it is a painful thing to break the ties of\naffection, but I hope our friendship will be renewed in Heaven.\"\n\nThere was a sorrowful silence when I stopped reading, which made me\nrealise that I had tasted another bitter draft of life in the prospect\nof farewell between pastor and flock. I left the church alone and went\nquietly to my study where I closed the door to all inquirers.\n\nIf my decision had been made upon any other ground than those of\nspiritual obligation to the purpose of my whole life I should have said\nso. My decision had been made because I had been thinking of my share in\nthe evangelism of the world, and how mercifully I had been spared and\ninstructed and forwarded in my Gospel mission. I wanted a more\nneighbourly relation with the human race than the prescribed limitations\nof a single pulpit.\n\nIn February, 1893, I lost an evangelical neighbour of many\nyears--Bishop Brooks. He was a giant, but he died. My mind goes back to\nthe time when Bishop Brooks and myself were neighbours in Philadelphia.\nHe had already achieved a great reputation as a pulpit orator in 1870.\nThe first time I saw him was on a stormy night as he walked majestically\nup the aisle of the church to which I administered. He had come to hear\nhis neighbour, as afterward I often went to hear him. What a great and\ngenial soul he was! He was a man that people in the streets stopped to\nlook at, and strangers would say as he passed, \"I wonder who that man\nis?\" Of unusual height and stature, with a face beaming in kindness,\nonce seeing him he was always remembered, but the pulpit was his throne.\nWith a velocity of utterance that was the despair of the swiftest\nstenographers, he poured forth his impassioned soul, making every theme\nhe touched luminous and radiant.\n\nPutting no emphasis on the mere technicalities of religion, he made his\npulpit flame with its power. He was the special inspiration of young\nmen, and the disheartened took courage under the touch of his words and\nrose up healed. It will take all time and all eternity to tell the\nresults of his Christian utterances. There were some who thought that\nthere was here and there an unsafe spot in his theology. As for\nourselves we never found anything in the man or in his utterances that\nwe did not like.\n\nAlthough fully realising that I was approaching a crisis of some sort in\nmy own career, it was with definite thankfulness for the mercies that\nhad upheld me so long that I forged ahead. My state of mind at this time\nwas peaceful and contented. I find in a note-book of this period of my\nlife the following entry, which betrays the trend of my heart and mind\nduring the last milestone of my ministry in Brooklyn:\n\n\"Here I am in Madison, Wisconsin, July 23, 1893. I have been attending\nMonona Lake Chautauqua, lecturing yesterday, preaching this morning.\nThis Sabbath afternoon I have been thinking of the goodness of God to\nme. It began many years before I was born; for as far back as I can find\nanything concerning my ancestry, both on my father's and mother's sides,\nthey were virtuous and Christian people. Who shall estimate the value of\nsuch a pedigree? The old cradle, as I remember it, was made out of plain\nboards, but it was a Christian cradle. God has been good in letting us\nbe born in a fair climate, neither in the rigours of frigidity nor in\nthe scorching air of tropical regions. Fortunate was I in being started\nin a home neither rich nor poor, so that I had the temptations of\nneither luxury nor poverty. Fortunate in good health--sixty years of it.\nI say sixty rather than sixty-one, for I believe the first year or two\nof my life compassed all styles of infantile ailments, from mumps to\nscarlet fever.\n\n\"A quarter of a century ago, looking at a pile of manuscript sermons, I\nsaid again and again to my wife: 'Those sermons were not made only for\nthe people who have already heard them. They must have a wider field.'\nThe prophecy came true, and every one of those sermons through the press\nhas come to the attention of at least twenty-five million people. I have\nno reason to be morose or splenetic. 'Goodness and mercy have followed\nme all the days of my life.' Here I am at 61 years of age without an\nache, a pain, or a physical infirmity. Now closing a preaching and\nlecturing tour from Georgia to Minnesota and Wisconsin, I am to-morrow\nmorning to start for my residence at the seaside where my family are\nawaiting me, and notwithstanding all the journeying and addressing of\ngreat audiences, and shaking hands with thousands of people, after a\ncouple of days' rest will be no more weary than when I left home. 'Bless\nthe Lord, O my soul!'\"\n\nMy ordinary mode of passing vacations has been to go to East Hampton,\nLong Island, and thence to go out for two or three preaching and\nlecturing excursions to points all the way between New York and San\nFrancisco, or from Texas to Maine. I find that I cannot rest more than\ntwo weeks at a time. More than that wearies me. Of all the places I have\never known East Hampton is the best place for quiet and recuperation.\n\nI became acquainted with it through my brother-in-law, Rev. S.L.\nMershon. The Presbyterian church here was his first pastoral settlement.\nWhen a boy in grammar school and college I visited him and his wife, my\nsister Mary. The place is gradually submitting to modern notions, but\nEast Hampton, whether in its antiquated shape or epauletted and frilled\nand decorated by the hand of modern enterprise, has always been to me a\nsemi-Paradise.\n\nAs I approach it my pulse is slackened and a delicious somnolence comes\nover me. I dream out the work for another year.\n\nMy most useful sermons have been born here. My most successful books\nwere planned here. In this place, between the hours of somnolence, there\ncome hours of illumination and ecstasy. It seems far off from the heated\nand busy world. East Hampton has been a great blessing to my family. It\nhas been a mercy to have them here, free from all summer heats. When\nnearly grown, the place is not lively enough for them, but an\noccasional diversion to White Sulphur, or Alum Springs, or a summer in\nEurope, has given them abundant opportunity. All my children have been\nwith us in Europe, except my departed son, DeWitt, who was at a most\nimportant period in school at the time of our going, or he would have\nbeen with us on one of our foreign tours.\n\nI have crossed the ocean twelve times, that is six each way, and like it\nless and less. It is to me a stomachic horror. But the frequent visits\nhave given educational opportunity to my children. Foreign travel, and\nlecturing and preaching excursions in our own country have been to me a\nstimulus, while East Hampton has been to me a sedative and anodyne. For\nthis beautiful medicament I am profoundly thankful.\n\nBut I am writing this in the new house that we have builded in place of\nour old one. It is far more beautiful and convenient and valuable than\nthe old one, but I doubt if it will be any more useful. And a railroad\nhas been laid out, and before summer is passed the shriek of a\nlocomotive will awaken all the Rip Van Winkles that have been slumbering\nhere since before the first almanac was printed.\n\nThe task of remembering the best of one's life is a pleasant one. Under\ndate of December 20, 1893, I find another recollection in my note-book\nthat is worth amplifying.\n\n\"This morning, passing through Frankfort, Kentucky, on my way from\nLexington, at the close of a preaching and lecturing tour of nearly\nthree weeks, I am reminded of a most royal visit that I had here at\nFrankfort as the guest of Governor Blackburn, at the gubernatorial\nmansion about ten years ago.\n\n\"I had made an engagement to preach twice at High Bridge, Ky., a famous\ncamp meeting. Governor Blackburn telegraphed me to Brooklyn asking when\nand where I would enter Kentucky, as he wished to meet me on the border\nof the State and conduct me to the High Bridge services. We met at\nCincinnati. Crossing the Ohio River, we found the Governor's especial\ncar with its luxurious appointments and group of servants to spread the\ntable and wait on every want. The Governor, a most fascinating and\nsplendid man, with a warmth of cordiality that glows in me every time I\nrecall his memory, entertained me with the story of his life which had\nbeen a romance of mercy in the healing art, he having been elected to\nhis high office in appreciation of his heroic services as physician in\ntime of yellow fever.\n\n\"At Lexington a brusque man got on our car, and we entered with him into\nvigorous conversation. I did not hear his name on introduction, and I\nfelt rather sorry that the Governor should have invited him into our\ncharming seclusion. But the stranger became such an entertainer as a\ncolloquialist, and demonstrated such extraordinary intellectuality, I\nbegan to wonder who he was, and I addressed him, saying, \"Sir, I did not\nhear your name when you were introduced.\" He replied, 'My name is\nBeck--Senator Beck.' Then and there began one of the most entertaining\nfriendships of my life. Great Scotch soul! Beck came a poor boy from\nScotland to America, hired himself out for farm work in Kentucky,\ndiscovered to his employer a fondness for reading, was offered free\naccess to his employer's large library, and marched right up into\neducation and the legal profession and the Senate of the United States.\"\n\nThat day we got out of the train at High Bridge. My sermon was on \"The\nDivinity of the Scriptures.\" Directly in front of me, and with most\nintense look, whether of disapprobation or approval I knew not, sat the\nSenator. On the train back to Lexington, where he took me in his\ncarriage on a long ride amid the scenes of Clayiana, he told me the\nsermon had re-established his faith in Christianity, for he had been\nbrought up to believe the Bible as most of the people in Scotland\nbelieve it. But I did not know all that transpired that day at High\nBridge until after the Senator was dead, and I was in Lexington, and\nvisited his grave at the cemetery where he sleeps amid the mighty\nKentuckians who have adorned their State.\n\nOn this last visit that I speak of, a young man connected with the\nPhoenix Hotel, Lexington, where Senator Beck lived much of the time, and\nwhere he entertained me, told me that on the morning of the day that\nSenator Beck went with me to High Bridge he had been standing in that\nhotel among a group of men who were assailing Christianity, and\nexpressing surprise that Senator Beck was going to High Bridge to hear a\nsermon. When we got to the hotel that afternoon the same group of men\nwere standing together, and were waiting to hear the Senator's report of\nthe service, and hoping to get something to the disadvantage of\nreligion. My informant heard them say to him, \"Well, how was it?\" The\nSenator replied, \"Doctor Talmage proved the truth of the Bible as by a\nmathematical demonstration. Now talk to me no more on that subject.\"\n\nOn Sunday morning I returned to High Bridge for another preaching\nservice. Governor Blackburn again took us in his especial car. The word\n\"immensity\" may give adequate idea of the audience present. Then the\nGovernor insisted that I go with him to Frankfort and spend a few days.\nThey were memorable days to me. At breakfast, lunch and dinner the\nprominent people of Kentucky were invited to meet me. Mrs. Blackburn\ntook me to preach to her Bible Class in the State Prison. I think there\nwere about 800 convicts in that class. Paul would have called her \"The\nelect lady,\" \"Thoroughly furnished unto all good works.\" Heaven only can\ntell the story of her usefulness. What days and nights they were at the\nGovernor's Mansion. No one will ever understand the heartiness and\ngenerosity and warmth of Kentucky hospitality until he experiences it.\n\nPresident Arthur was coming through Lexington on his way to open an\nExposition at Louisville. Governor Blackburn was to go to Lexington to\nreceive him and make a speech. The Governor read me the speech in the\nState House before leaving Frankfort, and asked for my criticism. It was\nan excellent speech about which I made only one criticism, and that\nconcerning a sentence in which he praised the beautiful women and the\nfine horses of Kentucky. I suggested that he put the human and the\nequine subjects of his admiration in different sentences, and this\nsuggestion he adopted.\n\nWe started for Lexington and arrived at the hotel. Soon the throngs in\nthe streets showed that the President of the United States was coming.\nThe President was escorted into the parlour to receive the address of\nwelcome, and seeing me in the throng, he exclaimed, \"Dr. Talmage! Are\nyou here? It makes me feel at home to see you.\" The Governor put on his\nspectacles and began to read his speech, but the light was poor, and he\nhalted once or twice for a word, when I was tempted to prompt him, for I\nremembered his speech better than he did himself.\n\nThat day I bade good-bye to Governor Blackburn, and I saw him two or\nthree times after that, once in my church in Brooklyn and once in\nLouisville lecture hall, where he stood at the door to welcome me as I\ncame in from New Orleans on a belated train at half-past nine o'clock at\nnight when I ought to have begun my lecture at 8 o'clock; and the last\ntime I saw him he was sick and in sad decadence and near the terminus of\nan eventful life. One of my brightest anticipations of Heaven is that of\nseeing my illustrious Kentucky friend.\n\nThat experience at Frankfort was one of the many courtesies I have\nreceived from all the leading men of all the States. I have known many\nof the Governors, and Legislatures, when I have looked in upon them,\nhave adjourned to give me reception, a speech has always been called\nfor, and then a general hand-shaking has followed. It was markedly so\nwith the Legislatures of Ohio and Missouri. At Jefferson City, the\ncapital of Missouri, both Houses of Legislature adjourned and met\ntogether in the Assembly Room, which was the larger place, and then the\nGovernor introduced me for an address.\n\nIt is a satisfaction to be kindly treated by the prominent characters of\nyour own time. I confess to a feeling of pleasure when General Grant, at\nthe Memorial Services at Greenwood--I think the last public meeting he\never attended, and where I delivered the Memorial Address on Decoration\nDay--said that he had read with interest everything that appeared\nconnected with my name. President Arthur, at the White House one day,\ntold me the same thing.\n\nWhenever by the mysterious laws of destiny I found myself in the cave of\nthe winds of displeasure, there always came to me encouraging echoes\nfrom somewhere. I find among my papers at this time a telegram from the\nRussian Ambassador in Washington, which illustrates this idea.\n\nThis message read as follows:--\n\n    \"Washington, D.C., May 20, 1893.\n\n    \"To Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage, Bible House, New York.\n\n    \"I would be very glad to see you on the 27th of May in Philadelphia\n    on board the Russian flagship 'Dimitry Donskoy' at eleven o'clock,\n    to tender to you in presence of our brilliant sailors and on Russian\n    soil, a souvenir His Majesty the Emperor ordered me to give in his\n    name to the American gentleman who visited Russia during the trying\n    year 1892.\n\n    \"CANTACUZENE.\"\n\nGladly I obeyed this request, and was presented, amid imperial\nceremonies, with a magnificent solid gold tea service from the Emperor\nAlexander III. These were the sort of appreciative incidents so often\nhappening in my life that infused my work with encouragements.\n\nThe months preceding the close of my ministry in Brooklyn developed a\nremarkable interest shown among those to whom my name had become a\nsymbol of the Gospel message. There was a universal, world-wide\nrecognition of my work. Many regretted my decision to leave the Brooklyn\nTabernacle, some doubted that I actually intended to do so, others\nforetold a more brilliant future for me in the open trail of Gospel\nservice they expected me to follow.\n\nAll this enthusiasm expressed by my friends of the world culminated in a\ncelebration festival given in honour of the twenty-fifth anniversary of\nmy pastorate in Brooklyn. The movement spread all over the country and\nto Europe. It was decided to make the occasion a sort of International\nreception, to be held in the Tabernacle on May 10 and 11, 1894.\n\nI had made my plans for a wide glimpse of the earth and the people on it\nwho knew me, but whom I had never seen. I had made preparations to start\non May 14, and the dates set for this jubilee were arranged on the eve\nof my farewell. I was about to make a complete circuit of the globe, and\nwhatever my friends expected me to do otherwise I approached this\noccasion with a very definite conclusion that it would be my farewell to\nBrooklyn.\n\nI recall this event in my life with keen contrasts of feeling, for it is\nmingled in my heart with swift impressions of extraordinary joy and\ntragic import. All of it was God's will--the blessing and the\nchastening.\n\nThe church had been decorated with the stars and stripes, with gold and\npurple. In front of the great organ, under a huge picture of the pastor,\nwas the motto that briefly described my evangelical career:--\n\n\"Tabernacle his pulpit; the world his audience.\"\n\nThe reception began at eight o'clock in the evening with a selection on\nthe great organ, by Henry Eyre Brown, our organist, of an original\ncomposition written by him and called, in compliment to the occasion,\n\"The Talmage Silver Anniversary March.\" On the speaker's platform with\nme were Mayor Schieren, of Brooklyn, Mr. Barnard Peters, Rev. Father\nSylvester Malone, Rev. Dr. John F. Carson, ex-Mayor David A. Boody, Rev.\nDr. Gregg, Rabbi F. De Sol Mendes, Rev. Dr. Louis Albert Banks, Hon.\nJohn Winslow, Rev. Spencer F. Roche, and Rev. A.C. Dixon--an\nundenominational gathering of good men. There is, perhaps, no better way\nto record my own impressions of this event than to quote the words with\nwhich I replied to the complimentary speeches of this oration. They\nrecall, more closely and positively, the sensibilities, the emotions,\nand the inspiration of that hour:\n\n    \"Dear Mr. Mayor, and friends before me, and friends behind me, and\n    friends all around me, and friends hovering over me, and friends in\n    this room, and the adjoining rooms, and friends indoors and\n    outdoors--forever photographed upon my mind and heart is this scene\n    of May 10, 1894. The lights, the flags, the decorations, the\n    flowers, the music, the illumined faces will remain with me while\n    earthly life lasts, and be a cause of thanksgiving after I have\n    passed into the Great Beyond. Two feelings dominate me\n    to-night--gratitude and unworthiness; gratitude first to God, and\n    next, to all who have complimented me.\n\n    \"My twenty-five years in Brooklyn have been happy years--hard work,\n    of course. This is the fourth church in which I have preached since\n    coming to Brooklyn, and how much of the difficult work of church\n    building that implies you can appreciate. This church had its mother\n    and its grandmother, and its great-grandmother. I could not tell the\n    story of disasters without telling the story of heroes and heroines,\n    and around me in all these years have stood men and women of whom\n    the world was not worthy. But for the most part the twenty-five\n    years have been to me a great happiness. With all good people here\n    present the wonder is, although they may not express it, 'What will\n    be the effect upon the pastor of this church; of all this scene?'\n    Only one effect, I assure you, and that an inspiration for better\n    work for God and humanity. And the question is already absorbing my\n    entire nature, 'What can I do to repay Brooklyn for this great\n    uprising?' Here is my hand and heart for a campaign of harder work\n    for God and righteousness than I have ever yet accomplished. I have\n    been told that sometimes in the Alps there are great avalanches\n    called down by a shepherd's voice. The pure white snows pile up\n    higher and higher like a great white throne, mountains of snow on\n    mountains of snow, and all this is so delicately and evenly poised\n    that the touch of a hand or the vibration of air caused by the human\n    voice will send down the avalanche into the valleys with\n    all-compassing and overwhelming power. Well, to-night I think that\n    the heavens above us are full of pure white blessings, mountains of\n    mercy on mountains of mercy, and it will not take much to bring down\n    the avalanche of benediction, and so I put up my right hand to reach\n    it and lift my voice, to start it. And now let the avalanche of\n    blessing come upon your bodies, your minds, your souls, your homes,\n    your churches, and your city. Blessed be the Lord God of Israel from\n    everlasting to everlasting, and let the whole earth be filled with\n    His glory! Amen and Amen!\"\n\nOn the next day, May 11, the reception was continued. Among the speakers\nwas the Hon. William M. Evarts, ex-Secretary of State, who, though\nadvanced in years, honoured us with his presence and an address. Senator\nWalsh, of Georgia, spoke for the South; ex-Congressman Joseph C. Hendrix\nof Brooklyn, Rev. Charles L. Thompson, Murat Halstead, Rev. Dr. I.J.\nLansing, General Tracey, were among the other speakers of the evening.\n\nFrom St. Petersburg came a cable, signed by Count Bobrinsky,\nsaying:--\"Heartfelt congratulations from remembering friends.\"\n\nMessages from Senator John Sherman, from Governor McKinley (before he\nbecame President), from Mr. Gladstone, from Rev. Joseph Parker, and\namong others from London, the following cable, which I shall always\nprize among the greatest testimonials of the broad Gospel purpose in\nEngland--\n\n    \"Cordial congratulations; grateful acknowledgment of splendid\n    services in ministry during last twenty-five years. Warm wishes for\n    future prosperity.\n\n    \"(Signed)\n    ARCHDEACON OF LONDON,\n    CANON WILBERFORCE.\n    THOMAS DAVIDSON.\n    PROFESSOR SIMPSON.\n    JOHN LOBB.\n    BISHOP OF LONDON.\"\n\n\nAppreciation, good cheer, encouragement swept around and about me, as I\nwas to start on what Dr. Gregg described as \"A walk among the people of\nmy congregation\" around the world.\n\nThe following Sunday, May 13, 1894, just after the morning service, the\nTabernacle was burned to the ground.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE\n\n1895-1898\n\n\nAmong the mysteries that are in every man's life, more or less\ninfluencing his course, is the mystery of disaster that comes upon him\nnoiselessly, suddenly, horribly. The destruction of the New Tabernacle\nby a fire which started in the organ loft was one of these mysteries\nthat will never be revealed this side of eternity. The destruction of\nany church, no matter how large or how popular, does not destroy our\nfaith in God. Great as the disaster had been, much greater was the mercy\nof Divine mystery that prevented a worse calamity in the loss of human\nlife. The fire was discovered just after the morning service, and\neveryone had left the building but myself, Mrs. Talmage, the organist,\nand one or two personal friends. We were standing in the centre aisle of\nthe church when a puff of smoke suddenly came out of the space behind\nthe organ. In less than fifteen minutes from that discovery the huge\npipe organ was a raging furnace, and I personally narrowly escaped the\nfalling debris by the rear door of my church study. The flags and\ndecoration which had been put up for the jubilee celebration had not\nbeen moved, and they whetted the appetite of the flames. It was all\nsignificant to me of one thing chiefly, that at some points of my life\nI had been given no choice. At these places of surprise in my life there\nwas never any doubt about what I had to do. God's way is very clear and\nvisible when the Divine purpose is intended for you.\n\nI had delivered that morning my farewell sermon before departing on a\nlong journey around the world. My prayer, in which the silent sympathy\nof a vast congregation joined me, had invoked the Divine protection and\nblessing upon us, upon all who were present at that time, upon all who\nhad participated in the great jubilee service of the preceding week. On\nthe tablets of memory I had recalled all the kindnesses that had been\nshown our church by other churches and other pastors on that occasion.\nThe general feeling of my prayer had been an outpouring of heartfelt\ngratitude for myself and my flock. As I have said before, God speaks\nloudest in the thunder of our experiences. There were several narrow\nescapes, for the fire spread with great rapidity, but, fortunately, all\nescaped from the doomed building in time. Mr. Frederick W. Lawrence and\nMr. T.E. Matthews, both of them trustees of the church, were exposed to\nserious danger and their escape was providential. Mr. Lawrence crept out\non his hands and knees to the open air, and Mr. Matthews was almost\nsuffocated when he reached the street.\n\nThe flames spread rapidly in the neighbourhood and destroyed the Hotel\nRegent, adjoining the church. At my home that day there were many\nmessages of sympathy and condolence brought to me, and neighbouring\nchurches sent committees to tender the use of their pulpits. In the\nafternoon the Tabernacle trustees met at my house and submitted the\nfollowing letter, which was adopted:--\n\n    \"DEAR DR. TALMAGE.--With saddened hearts, but undismayed, and with\n    faith in God unshaken and undisturbed, the trustees of the Brooklyn\n    Tabernacle have unanimously resolved to rebuild the Tabernacle. We\n    find that after paying the present indebtedness there will be\n    nothing left to begin with.\n\n    \"But if we can feel assured that our dear pastor will continue to\n    break the bread of life to us and to the great multitudes that are\n    accustomed to throng the Tabernacle, we are willing to undertake the\n    work, firmly believing that we can safely count upon the blessing of\n    God and the practical sympathy of all Christian people.\n\n    \"Will you kindly give us the encouragement of your promise to serve\n    the Tabernacle as its pastor, if we will dedicate a new building\n    free from debt, to the honour, the glory, and the service of God?\n\n    \"TRUSTEES OF THE TABERNACLE.\"\n\n\nOn reading this letter, or rather hearing it read to me, in the impulse\nof gratitude I replied in like sympathy. I thanked them, and remembering\nthat I had buried their dead, baptised their children and married the\nyoung, my heart was with them. I sincerely felt then, and perhaps I\nalways did feel, that I would rather serve them than any other people on\nthe face of the earth. It was my conclusion that if the trustees could\nfulfil the conditions they had mentioned, of building a new Tabernacle,\nfree of debt, I would remain their pastor.\n\nMy date for beginning my journey around the world had been May 14, the\nday following the disaster. Before leaving, however, I dictated the\nfollowing communication to my friends and the friends of my ministry\neverywhere:--\n\n    \"Our church has again been halted by a sword of flame. The\n    destruction of the first Brooklyn Tabernacle was a mystery. The\n    destruction of the second a greater--profound. The third calamity we\n    adjourn to the Judgment Day for explanation. The home of a vast\n    multitude of souls, it has become a heap of ashes. Whether it will\n    ever rise again is a prophecy we will not undertake. God rules and\n    reigns and makes no mistake. He has His way with churches as with\n    individuals. One thing is certain: the pastor of the Brooklyn\n    Tabernacle will continue to preach as long as life and health last.\n    We have no anxieties about a place to preach in. But woe is unto us\n    if we preach not the Gospel! We ask for the prayers of all good\n    people for the pastor and people of the Brooklyn Tabernacle.\n\n    \"T. DEWITT TALMAGE.\"\n\nAt half past nine o'clock on the night of May 14, 1894, I descended the\nfront steps of my home in Brooklyn, N.Y. The sensation of leaving for a\njourney around the world was not all bright anticipation. The miles to\nbe travelled were numerous, the seas to be crossed treacherous, the\nsolemnities outnumbered the expectations. My family accompanied me to\nthe railroad train, and my thought was should we ever meet again? The\nclimatic changes, the ships, the shoals, the hurricanes, the bridges,\nthe cars, the epidemics, the possibilities hinder any positiveness of\nprophecy. I remembered the consoling remark at my reception a few\nevenings ago, made by the Hon. William M. Evarts.\n\nHe said: \"Dr. Talmage ought to realise that if he goes around the world\nhe will come out at the same place he started.\"\n\nThe timbers of our destroyed church were still smoking when I left\nhome. Three great churches had been consumed. Why this series of huge\ncalamities I knew not. Had I not made all the arrangements for\ndeparture, and been assured by the trustees of my church that they would\ntake all further responsibilities upon themselves, I would have\npostponed my intended tour or adjourned it for ever; but all whom I\nconsulted told me that now was the time to go, so I turned my face\ntowards the Golden Gate.\n\nIn a book called \"The Earth Girdled,\" I have published all the facts of\nthis journey. It contains so completely the daily record of my trip that\nthere is no necessity to repeat any of its contents in these pages.\n\nI returned to the United States in the autumn of 1894 and entered\nactively into a campaign of preaching wherever a pulpit was available.\nOf course there was much curiosity and interest to know how I was going\nto pursue my Gospel work, having resigned my pastorate in Brooklyn. On\nSunday, January 6, 1895, I commenced a series of afternoon Gospel\nmeetings in the Academy of Music, New York, every Sunday. Because the\npastors of other churches had written me that an afternoon service was\nthe only one that would not interfere with their regular services, I\nselected that time, otherwise I would much have preferred the morning or\nthe evening. I decided to go to New York because for many years friends\nover there had been begging me to come. I regarded it as absurd and\nimprobable to expect the people of Brooklyn to build a fourth\nTabernacle, so I went in the direction that I felt would give me the\nlargest opportunity in the world.\n\nI continued to reside in Brooklyn pending future plans. I liked Brooklyn\nimmensely--not only the people of my own former parish, but prominent\npeople of all churches and denominations there are my warm personal\nfriends. Any particular church in which I preached thereafter was only\nthe candlestick. In different parts of the world my sermons were\npublished in more than ten million copies every week. How many readers\nsaw them no one can say positively. Those sermons came back to me in\nbook form in almost every language of Europe.\n\nMy arrangements at the Academy of Music were not the final plans for my\nGospel work. I expected, however, to gather from these Gospel meetings\nsufficient guidance to decide my field of work for the rest of my life.\nI felt then that I was yet to do my best work free from all hindrances.\nI looked forward to fully twenty years of good hard work before me.\n\nOver nine churches in my own country, and several in England, had made\nvery enthusiastic offers to me to accept a permanent pastoral\nobligation. For some reason or other I became more and more convinced,\nhowever, that the divine intention in my life from this time on would be\ndifferent from any previous plan. The only reason that I declined to\naccept these offers was because there was enough work for me to do\noutside a permanent pulpit.\n\nMy literary work became extensive in its demand upon my time, and my\nweekly sermons were like a sacred obligation that I could not forego. I\nnever found any difficulty in finding a pulpit from which to preach\nevery Sunday of my life. There were some ministers who preferred to\nsandwich me in between regular hours of worship, if possible, so as to\nmaintain the even course of their way and avoid the crowds. I never\ncould avoid them and I never wanted to. I was never nervous, as many\npeople are, of a crowded place--of a panic.\n\nThe sudden excitement to which we give the name of \"panic\" is almost\nalways senseless and without foundation, whether this panic be a wild\nrush in the money market or the stampede of an audience down the aisles\nand out of the windows. My advice to my family when they are in a\ncongregation of people suddenly seized upon by a determination to get\nout right away, and to get out regardless as to whether others are able\nto get out, is to sit quiet on the supposition that nothing has\nhappened, or is going to happen.\n\nI have been in a large number of panics, and in all the cases nothing\noccurred except a demonstration of frenzy. One night in the Academy of\nMusic, Brooklyn, while my congregation were worshipping there, at the\ntime we were rebuilding one of our churches, there occurred a wild\npanic. There was a sound that gave the impression that the galleries\nwere giving way under the immense throngs of people. I had been\npreaching about ten minutes when at the alarming sound aforesaid, the\nwhole audience rose to their feet except those who fainted. Hundreds of\nvoices were in full shriek. Before me I saw strong men swoon. The\norganist fled the platform. In an avalanche people went down the stairs.\nA young man left his hat and overcoat and sweetheart, and took a leap\nfor life, and it is doubtful whether he ever found his hat or coat,\nalthough, I suppose, he did recover his sweetheart. Terrorisation\nreigned. I shouted at the top of my voice, \"Sit down!\" but it was a\ncricket addressing a cyclone. Had it not been that the audience for the\nmost part were so completely packed in, there must have been a great\nloss of life in the struggle. Hoping to calm the multitude I began to\nsing the long meter doxology, but struck it at such a high pitch that by\nthe time I came to the second line I broke down. I then called to a\ngentleman in the orchestra whom I knew could sing well: \"Thompson, can't\nyou sing better than that?\" whereupon he started the doxology again. By\nthe time we came to the second line scores of voices had joined, and by\nthe time we came to the third line hundreds of voices enlisted, and the\nlast line marshalled thousands. Before the last line was reached I cried\nout, \"As I was saying when you interrupted me,\" and then went on with my\nsermon. The cause of the panic was the sliding of the snow from one part\nof the roof of the Academy to another part. That was all. But no one who\nwas present that night will ever forget the horrors of the scene.\n\nOn the following Wednesday I was in the large upper room of the college\nat Lewisburg, Pa.; I was about to address the students. No more people\ncould get into this room, which was on the second or third storey. The\nPresident of the college was introducing me when some inflammable\nChristmas greens, which had some six months before been wound around a\npillar in the centre of the room, took fire, and from floor to ceiling\nthere was a pillar of flame. Instantly the place was turned from a jolly\ncommencement scene, in which beauty and learning and congratulation\ncommingled, into a raving bedlam of fright and uproar. The panic of the\nprevious Sunday night in the Academy of Music, Brooklyn, had schooled me\nfor the occasion, and I saw at a glance that when the Christmas greens\nwere through burning all would be well.\n\nOne of the professors said to me, \"You seem to be the only composed\nperson present.\" I replied, \"Yes, I got prepared for this by something\nwhich I saw last Sunday in Brooklyn.\"\n\nSo I give my advice: On occasions of panic, sit still; in 999 cases out\nof a thousand there is nothing the matter.\n\nI was not released from my pastorate of the Brooklyn Tabernacle by the\nBrooklyn Presbytery until December, 1894, after my return from abroad.\nSome explanation was demanded of me by members of the Presbytery for my\ndecision to relinquish my pastorate, and I read the following statement\nwhich I had carefully prepared. It concerns these pages because it is\nexplanatory of the causes which carried me over many crossroads,\nencountered everywhere in my life:\n\n    \"To the Brooklyn Presbytery--\n\n    \"Dear Brethren,--After much prayer and solemn consideration I apply\n    for the dissolution of the pastoral relation existing between the\n    Brooklyn Tabernacle and myself. I have only one reason for asking\n    this. As you all know, we have, during my pastorate, built three\n    large churches and they have been destroyed. If I remain pastor we\n    must undertake the superhuman work of building a fourth church. I do\n    not feel it my duty to lead in such an undertaking. The plain\n    providential indications are that my work in the Brooklyn Tabernacle\n    is concluded. Let me say, however, to the Presbytery, that I do not\n    intend to go into idleness, but into other service quite as arduous\n    as that in which I have been engaged. Expecting that my request will\n    be granted I take this opportunity of expressing my love for all the\n    brethren in the Presbytery with whom I have been so long and so\n    pleasantly associated, and to pray for them and the churches they\n    represent the best blessings that God can bestow.--Yours in the\n    Gospel,\n\n    \"T. DEWITT TALMAGE.\"\n\nThe following resolution was then offered by the Presbytery as follows:\n\n    \"Resolved--That the Presbytery, while yielding to Dr. Talmage's\n    earnest petition for the dissolution of the relationship existing\n    between the Brooklyn Tabernacle and himself, expresses its deep\n    regret at the necessity for such action, and wishes Dr. Talmage\n    abundant success in any field in which in the providence of God he\n    may be called to labour. Presbytery also expresses its profound\n    sympathy with the members of the Tabernacle Church in the loss of\n    their honoured and loving pastor, and cordially commends them to go\n    forward in all the work of the church.\"\n\nIn October, 1895, I accepted the call of the First Presbyterian Church\nin Washington. My work was to be an association with the Rev. Dr. Byron\nW. Sunderland, the President's pastor. It was Dr. Sunderland's desire\nthat I should do this, and although there had been some intention in Dr.\nSunderland's mind to resign his pastorate on account of ill-health I\nadvocated a joint pastorate. There were invitations from all parts of\nthe world for me to preach at this time. I had calls from churches in\nMelbourne, Australia; Toronto, Canada; San Francisco, California;\nLouisville, Kentucky; Chicago, Illinois; New York City; Brooklyn, N.Y.\nLondon had pledged me a larger edifice than Spurgeon's Tabernacle. All\nthese cities, in fact, promised to build big churches for me if I would\ngo there to preach.\n\nThe call which came to me from Washington was as follows:\n\n    \"Rev. Dr. T. DeWitt Talmage--\n\n    \"The congregation of the First Presbyterian Church, of Washington,\n    D.C., being on sufficient grounds well satisfied of the ministerial\n    qualifications of you, the Rev. Dr. T. DeWitt Talmage, and having\n    good hopes from our knowledge of your past eminent labours that your\n    ministrations in the Gospel will be profitable to our spiritual\n    interests, do earnestly, unanimously, harmoniously and heartily, not\n    one voice dissenting, call and desire you to undertake the office of\n    co-pastor in said congregation, promising you in the discharge of\n    your duty all proper support, encouragement and obedience in the\n    Lord. And that you may be free from worldly cares and avocations,\n    considering your well and wide-known ability and generosity, we do\n    not assume to specify any definite sum of money for your recompense,\n    but we do hereby promise, pledge and oblige ourselves, to pay to you\n    such sums of money and at such times as shall be mutually\n    satisfactory during the time of your being and remaining in the\n    relation to said church to which we do hereby call you.\"\n\nOn September 23, 1895, accompanying this call, I received the following\ndispatch from Dr. Sunderland:\n\n    \"T.D.W. Talmage, 1, South Oxford Street.\n\n    \"Meeting unanimous and enthusiastic. Call extended, rising vote, all\n    on their feet in a flash. Call mailed special delivery.\n\n    \"B. SUNDERLAND.\"\n\nOn September 26, 1895, I accepted the call in the following letter:\n\n    \"The call signed by the elders, deacons, trustees, and members of\n    the congregation of the First Presbyterian Church of Washington is\n    before me. The statement contained in that call that you 'do\n    earnestly, unanimously, harmoniously and heartily, not one voice\n    dissenting,' desire me to become co-pastor in your great and\n    historical church has distinctly impressed me. With the same\n    heartiness I now declare my acceptance of the call. All of my\n    energies of body, mind, and soul shall be enlisted in your Christian\n    service. I will preach my first sermon Sabbath evening, October 27.\"\n\nWashington was always a beautiful city to me, the climate in winter is\ndelightful. President Cleveland was a personal friend, as were many of\nthe public men, and I regarded my call to Washington as a national\nopportunity. It had been my custom in the past, when I was very tired\nfrom overwork, to visit Washington for two or three days, stopping at\none of the hotels, to get a thorough rest. For a long time I was really\nundecided what to do, I had so many invitations to take up my home and\nlife work in different cities. While preaching was to be the main work\nfor the rest of my life, my arrangements were so understood by my church\nin Washington that I could continue my lecture engagements.\n\nI delivered a farewell sermon before leaving for Washington, at the\nLafayette Avenue Presbyterian Church, in Brooklyn, before an audience of\nfive thousand people. My text was 2 Samuel xii. 23: \"I shall go to Him.\"\n\nI still recall the occasion as one of deep feeling--a difficult hour of\nself-control. I could not stop the flow of tears that came with the\nclosing paragraph. The words are merely the outward sign of my inner\nfeelings:\n\n    \"Farewell, dear friends. I could wish that in this last interview I\n    might find you all the sons and daughters of the Mighty. Why not\n    cross the line this hour, out of the world into the kingdom of God?\n    I have lived in peace with all of you. There is not among all the\n    hundreds of thousands of people of this city one person with whom\n    I could not shake hands heartily and wish him all the happiness for\n    this world and the next. If I have wronged anyone let him appear at\n    the close of this service, and I will ask his forgiveness before I\n    go. Will it not be glorious to meet again in our Father's house,\n    where the word goodbye shall never be spoken? How much we shall then\n    have to talk over of earthly vicissitudes! Farewell! A hearty,\n    loving, hopeful, Christian farewell!\"\n\n[Illustration: THE FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH OF WASHINGTON DR. TALMAGE'S\nLAST CHARGE.]\n\nI was installed in the First Presbyterian Church in Washington on\nOctober 23, 1895. My first sermon in the new pulpit in Washington was\npreached to a crowded church, with an overflow of over three thousand\npersons in the street outside. The text of my sermon was, \"All Heaven is\nlooking on.\"\n\nIn a few days, by exchange of my Brooklyn property, I had obtained the\nhouse 1402 Massachusetts Avenue, in Washington, for my home. It had at\none time been the Spanish Legation, and was in a delightful part of the\ncity. Shortly after my arrival in Washington I received my first\nintroduction at the White House, with my daughters, to Mrs. Cleveland.\nOur reception was cordial and gracious in the extreme. I had engaged a\nsuite of rooms at the Arlington Hotel for a year. We remained there till\nour lease was up before entering our new home. There was a desire among\nmembers of the congregation of the First Presbyterian Church to have me\npreach at the morning as well as the evening services. With three\nministers attached to one church there was some difficulty in the\narrangement of the sermons. Eventually it was decided that I should\npreach morning and evening.\n\nIn 1896 I made an extensive lecturing tour, in which I discussed my\nimpressions of the world trip I had recently made.\n\nThe world was getting better in spite of contrasting opinions from men\nwho had thought about it. God never launched a failure.\n\nIn 1897 I made an appeal for aid for the famine in India. I always\nbelieved it was possible to evangelise India.\n\nMy life in Washington was not different from its former course. I had\nknown many prominent people of this country, and some of the great men\nof other lands.\n\nI had known all the Presidents of the United States since Buchanan. I\nhad known Mr. Gladstone, all the more prominent men in the bishoprics,\nand in high commercial, financial and religious position. I had been\npresented to royalty in more than one country.\n\nLegislatures in the North and South have adjourned to give me reception.\nThe Earl of Kintore, a Scottish peer, entertained us at his house in\nLondon in 1879. I found his family delightful Christian people, and the\nCountess and their daughters are very lovely. The Earl presided at two\nof my meetings. He took me to see some of his midnight charities--one of\nthem called the \"House of Lords\" and the other the \"House of Commons,\"\nboth of them asylums for old and helpless men. We parted about two\no'clock in the morning in the streets of London. As we bade each other\ngood-bye he said, \"Send me a stick of American wood and I will send you\na stick.\" His arrived in America, and is now in my possession, a\nshepherd's crook; but before the cane I purchased for him reached\nScotland the good Earl had departed this life. I was not surprised to\nhear of his decease. I said to my wife in London, \"We will never see the\nEarl again in this world. He is ripe for Heaven, and will soon be\ntaken.\" He attended the House of Lords during the week, and almost every\nSabbath preached in some chapel or church.\n\nI shall not forget the exciting night I met him. I was getting out of a\ncarriage at the door of a church in London where I was to lecture when a\nruffian struck at me, crying, \"He that believeth not shall be damned.\"\nThe scoundrel's blow would have demolished me but for the fact that a\nbystander put out his arm and arrested the blow. From that scene I was\nushered into the ante-room of the church where the Earl of Kintore was\nawaiting my arrival. From that hour we formed a friendship. He had been\na continuous reader of my sermons, and that fact made an introduction\neasy. I have from him five or six letters.\n\nLord and Lady Aberdeen had us at their house in London in the summer of\n1892. Most gracious and delightful people they are. I was to speak at\nHaddo House, their estate in Scotland, at a great philanthropic meeting,\nbut I was detained in St. Petersburg, Russia, by an invitation of the\nEmperor, and could not get to Scotland in time. Glad am I that the Earl\nis coming to Canada to be Governor-General. He and the Countess will do\nCanada a mighty good. They are on the side of God, and righteousness,\nand the Church. Since his appointment--for he intimated at Aberdeen,\nScotland, when he called upon me, that he was to have an important\nappointment--I have had opportunity to say plauditory things of them in\nvast assemblages in Ottawa, Montreal, Toronto, London and Grimsby Park.\n\nIn a scrap book in which I put down, hurriedly, perhaps, but accurately,\nmy impressions of various visits to the White House during my four years\npastorate in Washington, I find some notes that may be interesting. I\ntransmit them to the printed page exactly as I find them written on\npaper:\n\n    \"May 1, 1896. Had a long talk this afternoon with Mrs. Cleveland at\n    Woodley. I always knew she was very attractive, but never knew how\n    wide her information was on all subjects. She had her three children\n    brought in, and the two elder ones sang Easter songs for me. Mrs.\n    Cleveland impresses me as a consecrated Christian mother. She passes\n    much of her time with her children, and seems more interested in her\n    family than in anything else. The first lady of the land, she is\n    universally admired. I took tea with her and we talked over many\n    subjects. She told me that she had joined the church at fourteen\n    years of age. Only two joined the church that day, a man of eighty\n    years old and herself. She was baptised then, not having been\n    baptised in infancy. She said she was glad she had not been baptised\n    before because she preferred to remember her baptism.\n\n    \"She said she did not like the great crowds attending the church\n    then, because she did not like to be stared at as the President's\n    wife. But I told her she would get used to that after a while. She\n    said she did not mind being stared at on secular occasions, but\n    objected to it at religious service. She said she had long ago\n    ceased taking the Holy Communion at our church because of the fact\n    that spectators on that day seemed peculiarly anxious to see how she\n    looked at the Communion.\n\n    \"My first meeting with Mrs. Cleveland was just after her marriage.\n    She was at the depot, in her carriage, to see Miss Rose Cleveland,\n    the President's sister, off on the train. Dr. Sunderland introduced\n    me at that time, when I was just visiting Washington. Mrs.\n    Cleveland invited me to take a seat in her carriage. I accepted the\n    invitation, and we sat there some time talking about various things.\n    I saw, as everyone sees who converses with her, that she is a very\n    attractive person, though brilliantly attired, unaffected in her\n    manner as any mountain lass.\n\n    \"March 3, 1897. Made my last call this afternoon on Mrs. Cleveland.\n    Found her amid a group of distinguished ladies, and unhappy at the\n    thought of leaving the White House, which had been her home off and\n    on for nearly eight years. Her children have already gone to\n    Princeton, which is to be her new home. She is the same beautiful,\n    unaffected, and intelligent woman that she has always been since I\n    formed her acquaintance. She is an inspiration to anyone who\n    preaches, because she is such an intense listener. Her going from\n    our church here will be a great loss. It is wonderful that a woman\n    so much applauded and admired should not have been somewhat spoiled.\n    More complimentary things have been said of her than of any living\n    woman. She invited me to her home in Princeton, but I do not expect\n    ever to get there. Our pleasant acquaintance seems to have come to\n    an end. Washington society will miss this queen of amiability and\n    loveliness.\n\n    \"February 4, 1897. Had one of my talks with President Cleveland.\n\n    \"As I congratulated him on his coming relief from the duties of his\n    absorbing office, he said:\n\n    \"'Yes! I am glad of it; but there are so many things I wanted to\n    accomplish which have not been accomplished.'\n\n    \"Then he went into extended remarks about the failure of the Senate\n    to ratify the Arbitration plan. He said that there had been much\n    work and anxiety in that movement that had never come to the\n    surface; how they had waited for cablegrams, and how at the same\n    time, although he had not expressed it, he had a presentiment that\n    through the inaction of the Senate the splendid plan for the\n    pacification of the world's controversies would be a failure.\n\n    \"He dwelt much upon the Cuban embroglio, and said that he had told\n    the Committee on Foreign Relations that if they waited until spring\n    they had better declare war, but that he would never be responsible\n    for such a calamity.\n\n    \"He said that he had chosen Princeton for his residence because he\n    would find there less social obligation and less demand upon his\n    financial resources than in a larger place. He said that in all\n    matters of national as well as individual importance it was a\n    consolation to him to know that there was an overwhelming\n    Providence. When I congratulated him upon his continuous good\n    health, notwithstanding the strain upon him for the eight years of\n    his past and present administration, he said:\n\n    \"'Yes! I am a wonder to myself. The gout that used to distract me is\n    almost cured, and I am in better health than when I entered office.'\n\n    \"He accounted for his good health by the fact that he had\n    occasionally taken an outing of a few days on hunting expeditions.\n\n    \"I said to him, 'Yes! You cannot think of matters of State while out\n    shooting ducks.'\n\n    \"He answered:\n\n    \"'No, I cannot, except when the hunting is poor and the ducks do not\n    appear.'\n\n    \"May 21, 1896. This morning when I entered President Cleveland's\n    room at the White House, he said: 'Good morning, I have been\n    thinking of you this morning.'\n\n    \"The fact is he had under consideration the recall of a minister\n    plenipotentiary from a European Government. I had an opportunity of\n    saying something about a gentleman who was proposed as a substitute\n    for the foreign embassy, and the President said my conversation with\n    him had given him a new idea about the whole affair, and I think it\n    kept the President from making a mistake that might have involved\n    our Government in some entanglement with another nation.\n\n    \"The President read me a long letter that he had received on the\n    subject. I felt that my call had been providential, although I went\n    to see him merely to say good-bye before he went away on his usual\n    summer trip to Gray Gables, Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts.\n\n    \"The President is in excellent health although he says he much needs\n    an outing. He is very fond of his children, and seemed delighted to\n    hear of the good time I had with them at Woodley. When I told how\n    Ruth and Esther sang for me he said he could not stand hearing them\n    sing, as it was so touching it made him cry. I told him how the\n    baby, Marian, looked at me very soberly and scrutinisingly as long\n    as I held her in my arms, but when I handed her to her mother, the\n    baby, feeling herself very safe, put out her hands to me and wanted\n    to play. But what a season of work and anxiety it had been to the\n    President, important question after question to be settled.\n\n    \"March 1, 1897. I have this afternoon made my last call on President\n    Cleveland. With Dr. Sunderland and the officers of our church I went\n    to the White House to bid our retiring President goodbye.\n    Notwithstanding appointments he had made, Thurber, his private\n    secretary, informed us that the President could not see us because\n    of a sudden attack of rheumatism. But after Thurber had gone into\n    the President's room, he returned saying that the President would\n    see Dr. Sunderland and myself. Indeed, afterwards, he saw all our\n    church officers. But he could not move from his chair. His doctor\n    had told him that if he put his foot to the floor he would not be\n    able to attend the inauguration of Major McKinley on the following\n    Thursday.\n\n    \"After Dr. Sunderland and the officers of the church had shaken\n    hands for departure, the President said to me:\n\n    \"'Doctor, remain, I want to see you.'\n\n    \"The door closed, he asked me if I had followed the Chinese\n    Immigration Bill that was then under consideration. We discussed it\n    fully. The President read to me the veto which he was writing. He\n    stated to me his objection to the bill. Our conversation was\n    intimate, but somewhat saddened by the thought that perhaps we might\n    not meet again. With an invitation to come and see him at Princeton,\n    we parted.\n\n    \"During a conversation of an earlier period at the White House, I\n    congratulated the President upon his improved appearance since\n    returning from one of his hunting expeditions.\n\n    \"'Oh! Yes!' he said, 'I cannot get daily exercise in Washington. It\n    is impossible, so I am compelled to take these occasional outings. I\n    approach the city on my return with a feeling that work must be\n    pulled down over me, like a nightcap,' and as he said this he made\n    the motion as of someone putting on a cap over his head.\n\n    \"I congratulated him on the effect of his proclamation on the Monroe\n    Doctrine as it would set a precedent, and really meant peace. He\n    agreed with me, saying:\n\n    \"'Yes, but they blame me very much for the excitement I have caused\n    in business circles, and the failures consequent. But no one failed\n    who was doing a legitimate business, only those collapsed who were\n    engaged in unwarranted speculations. I wish more of those people\n    would fail.'\n\n    \"'Mr. President,' I said, 'I do not want to pry into State secrets,\n    but I would like to know how many ducks you did shoot?' He laughed,\n    and said, 'Eleven. The papers said thirteen. Indeed, the country\n    papers before I began to shoot said I had shot a hundred and\n    twenty.' I spoke of the brightness and beauty of his children again.\n    I remarked that the youngest one, then four months old, had the\n    intelligence of a child a year old, and the President said:\n\n    \"'Yes, she is a great pleasure to us, and seems to know everything.'\n\n    \"March 3, 1896. Started from Washington for the great Home\n    Missionary meeting to be held in Carnegie Hall, New York, President\n    Cleveland to preside. We left on the eleven o'clock train, by\n    Pennsylvania railroad. I did not go to the President's private car\n    until we had been some distance on our way, although he told me when\n    I went in that he had looked for me at the depot, that I might as\n    well have been in his car all the way. No one was with him except\n    Mrs. Cleveland and his private secretary, Mr. Thurber, who is also\n    one of my church. We had an uninterrupted conversation. The servants\n    and guards were at the front end of the car, and we were at the\n    rear.\n\n    \"I asked the President if he found it possible to throw off the\n    cares of office for a while. He laughed, and said:\n\n    \"'They call a trip of this kind a vacation;' then with a countenance\n    of sudden gravity he added: 'We no sooner get through one great\n    question than another comes.' It made me think of the tension on\n    the President's mind at that time. There was the Venezuelan\n    question. There were suggestions of war with England, and then there\n    was the Cuban matter with suggestions of war with Spain, and all the\n    time the overshadowing financial questions.\n\n    \"During our conversation the President referred to the conditions\n    ever and anon inflicted upon him by newspaper misrepresentations,\n    particularly those of inebriety, of domestic quarrels, of turning\n    Mrs. Cleveland out of doors at night so that she had to flee for\n    refuge to the house of Dr. Sunderland, my pastoral associate,\n    passing the night there; and then the reports that his children were\n    deaf and dumb, or imbecile, when he knew I had seen them and\n    considered them the brightest and healthiest children I had known.\n\n    \"All these attacks and falsehoods concerning the President and his\n    family I saw hurt him as deeply as they would any of us, but he is\n    in a position which does not allow him to make reply. I assured him\n    that he was only in the line of misrepresentation that had assailed\n    all the Presidents, George Washington more violently than himself,\n    and that the words cynicism, jealousy, political hatred, and\n    diabolism in general would account for all. I do think, however,\n    that the factories of scandal had been particularly busy with our\n    beloved President. They were running on extra time.\n\n    \"If I were asked who among the mighty men at Washington has most\n    impressed me with elements of power I would say Grover Cleveland.\n\n    \"June 25, 1896. It seems now that Major McKinley, of Canton, Ohio,\n    will be elected President of the United States. I was in Canton\n    about three weeks ago and called at Major McKinley's house. He was\n    just starting from his home to call on me. He presided at the first\n    lecture I delivered at Canton in 1871. On my recent visit he\n    recalled all the circumstances of that lecture, remembering that he\n    went to my room afterwards in the hotel, and had a long talk with\n    me, which he said made a deep impression upon him.\n\n    \"My visit at Canton three weeks ago was to lecture. Major McKinley\n    attended and came upon the platform afterwards to congratulate me.\n    He is a Christian man and as genial and lovable a man as I ever\n    met.\"\n\n    \"September 21, 1897. Had a most delightful interview with President\n    McKinley in the White House.\n\n    \"I congratulated him on the peaceful opening of his administration.\n    He said:\n\n    \"'Yes! I hope it is not the calm before a storm.'\n\n    \"He said that during the last six weeks at least a half million of\n    people had passed before him, and they all gave signs of their\n    encouragement. Especially, he said, the women and children looked\n    and acted as though they expected better times.\n\n    \"The President looked uncommonly well. I told him that during the\n    past summer I had travelled in many of the states, and that from the\n    people everywhere I gathered hopeful feelings. I told him that they\n    were expecting great prosperity would come to the country through\n    his administration.\"\n\nOf course these are merely scraps torn from old note-books, but I cannot\nhelp commending the value of first impressions, of the first-hand\nreports, which are made in this way. There is in the unadorned picture\nof any incident in the past a sort of hallowed character that no ornate\nframe can improve.\n\nSo the pages of these recollections are but a string of impressions torn\nfrom old note-books and diaries.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFrom scrap books and other sources, some other person may set up the\nlast milestones of my journey through life, and think other things of\nenough importance to add to the furlongs I have already travelled; and I\ngive permission to add that biography to this autobiography.\n\n[Illustration: T. De Witt Talmage signature.]\n\n\n\n\nA BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF DR. TALMAGE'S LAST MILESTONES\n\nBY\n\nMRS. T. DEWITT TALMAGE\n\n1898-1902\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAST MILESTONES\n\nBY\n\nMRS. T. DEWITT TALMAGE\n\n1898-1902\n\n\nThe wishes of Doctor Talmage reign paramount with me; otherwise I should\nnot dare to add these imperfect memoirs to the finished and eloquent,\nyet simple, narration of his life-work which has just charmed the reader\nfrom his own graphic pen. Dr. Talmage did not consider his autobiography\nof vital importance to posterity; his chief concern was for his sermons\nand other voluminous writings. The intimate things of his life he held\ntoo sacred for public view, and he shrank from any intrusion thereupon.\nHis autobiography, therefore, was a concession to his family, his\nfriends, and an admiring public.\n\nSo many people all over the world have paid homage to his personality,\nand to his remarkable influence, that it seemed evident not only to us\nbut to many others, that his own recollections would give abiding\npleasure. I remember when we were travelling to Washington after our\nmarriage, many men of prominence, who were on the Congressional Limited,\nsaid to Dr. Talmage: \"Doctor, why don't you write your memoirs? They\nwould be especially interesting because you have bridged two centuries\nin your life.\" Then, turning to me, they urged me to use my influence\nover him. Later on I did so, placing over his desk as a reminder, in big\nletters, the one word--\"Autobiography.\"\n\nHis celebrity was something so unique, and so widespread, that it is\ndifficult to write of it under the spell which still surrounds his\nmemory. Many still remember seeing and feeling almost with awe the\ntremendous grasp of success which Dr. Talmage had all his life. A\nreminiscence of my girlhood will be pardoned: My father was his great\nadmirer many years before I ever met the Doctor. Whenever I went with my\nfather from my home in Pittsburg on a visit to New York, I was taken\nover to Brooklyn every Sunday morning, unwillingly I must confess, to\nhear Dr. Talmage. At that time there were other things which I found\nmore pleasant, for I had many young friends to visit and to entertain.\nHowever, my father's wishes were always uppermost with me, and his\nadmiration of the great preacher inspired me also with reverence. The\nDoctor soon became one of the great men of my life.\n\nDr. Talmage was among the builders of his century--a watchman of his\nperiod. He was a man of philanthropy and enterprise. His popularity was\nworld-wide; his extraordinary power was exerted over people of all\nclasses and conditions of life. His broad human intellectuality, his\nconstant good humour, his indomitable energy, threw a glamour about him.\nHis happy laughter, which attested the deep peace of his heart, rang\neverywhere, through his home, in social meetings with his friends, in\ncasual encounters even with strangers.\n\n[Illustration: DR. AND MRS. T. DE WITT TALMAGE.]\n\nNo one who ever knew the Doctor thought of him as an old man. He himself\nalmost believed that he would live for ever. \"Barring an accident,\" he\noften said, \"I shall live for ever.\" The frankness and buoyancy of his\nspirit were like youth: were the enchantment of his personality. Even\nto-day, when memories begin to grow cold in the shadow of his tomb, I am\nconstantly reminded by those who remember him of the strange magical\neternity that was in him. He had been so active and busy through all the\nyears of his life, keeping pace with each one in its seemingly\nincreasing speed, that his heart remained ever young, living in the\nglory of things that were present, searching with eager vigour the\nhorizon of the future.\n\nWherever I am, whether in this country or in Europe, but especially in\nEngland, Dr. Talmage's name still brings me remembrance of his\ndistinguished career from the men of prominence who knew him. They come\nto me and tell me about him with unabated affection for his memory. He\nattracted people by a kind of magnetism, and held them afterwards with\nties of deep friendship and respect. The standards of his youth were the\nstandards of his whole life.\n\nMy appreciation of Dr. Talmage in these printed pages may not be wholly\nin harmony with his ideas of the privacy of his home life; but it is\ndifficult to think of him at all in any mood less intimately reverent.\n\nAs I look over the scrapbook, my scrapbook (as he and I always called\nit), I feel the reserve about it that he himself did. My share in the\nDoctor's life, however, belongs to these last years of his distinguished\ncareer, and I am a contributor by special privilege.\n\nI met him first at East Hampton, Long Island, in the summer of 1896,\nwhen I was visiting friends. The other day, while in reminiscent\nstruggle with my scrapbook, I was visited by an old friend of Dr.\nTalmage, who recalled the following incident:\n\n\"It was Dr. Talmage's custom,\" he said, \"to take long drives out into\nthe country round about Washington. Sometimes he sent for me to drive\nwith him. One afternoon I received a specially urgent call to be sure\nand drive with him that day, because he had something of great\nimportance to discuss with me. On our way back, towards evening, I asked\nhim what it was. He said, 'I work hard, very hard. Sometimes I come back\nto my home tired, very tired--lonely. I open my door and the house is\ndark, silent. The young folks are out somewhere and there is no one to\ntalk to.' Then he became silent himself. I said to him: 'Have you any\none in mind whom you would like to talk to?' 'I have,' he said\npositively. 'If so,' I said, 'go to her at once and tell her so.' 'I\nwill,' he replied briskly--and the next night he went to Pittsburg.\"\n\nWe were married in January, 1898.\n\nThe first reception given in our home on Massachusetts Avenue was in the\nnature of a greeting between the Doctor's friends and myself. His own\ninterest in the social side of things in Washington was an agreeable\ninterruption rather than a part of his own activities. His friends were\nmen and women from every highway and byway of the world. My father, a\nman of unusual intellectual breadth and heart, had been my companion of\nmany years, so that I was, to some degree, accustomed to mature\nconceptions of people and affairs. But the busy whirl in the life of a\ncelebrity was entirely new.\n\nIt was soon quite evident that Dr. Talmage relied upon me for the\ndiscretionary duties of a man besieged by all sorts of demands. From the\nfirst I feared that Dr. Talmage was over-taxing his strength,\nundiminished though it was at a time when most men begin to relinquish\ntheir burdens. Therefore, I entered eagerly into my new duties of\nrelieving the strain he himself did not realise.\n\nHis was a full and ample life devoted to the gospel of cheerfulness; and\nto me, I think, was given the best part of it--the autumn. When I knew\nhim he had already impressed the wide world of his hearers with his\nstriking originality of thought and style. He had already established a\nform of preaching that was known by his name--Talmagic. Its character\nwas the man himself, broad, brilliant, picturesque, keen with divine and\nhuman facts, told simply, always with an uplift of spiritual beauty.\n\nIn March, 1898, Dr. Talmage was called West for lecture engagements, and\nI went with him. What strange and delightful events that spring tour\nbrought into my life! The Doctor lectured every night in what was to me\nsome new and undiscovered country. We were always going to an hotel, to\na train, to an opera house, to another hotel, another train, another\nopera house. Our experiences were not less exciting than the trials of\none-night stands. I had never travelled before without a civilised quota\nof trunks; but the Doctor would have been overwhelmed with them in the\nrush to keep his engagements. So we had to be content with our bags.\nWhen we were not studying time tables the Doctor was striding across the\nland, his Bible under his arm, myself in gasping haste at his side. What\nprimitive hotels we encountered; what antiquated trains we had to take!\nFrequently a milk train was the only means of reaching our destination,\nand, alas! a milk train always leaves at the trying hour of 4 a.m. Once\nwe had to ride on a special engine; and frequently the caboose of a\nfreight train served our desperate purpose. I began to understand\nsomething of the loneliness of the Doctor's life in experiences like\nthese.\n\nI insisted upon sitting in the front row at every one of Dr. Talmage's\nlectures, which I soon knew by heart. He used to laugh when I would\nrepeat certain parts of them to him.\n\nThen he would beg me to stay away that I might not be bored by listening\nto the same thing over again. I would not have missed one of his\nlectures for the world. These were the great moments of his life; the\ncombined resources of his character came to the surface whenever he went\ninto the pulpit or on to the platform. These were the moments that\ninspired his life, that gave it an ever-increasing vigour of human and\ndivine perception. The enthusiasm of his reception by the crowds in\nthese theatres keyed me up so that each new audience was a new pleasure.\nThere were no preliminaries to his lectures. Frequently he had time only\nto drop his hat and step on to the stage as he had come from the train.\nAfter every lecture it was his custom to shake hands with hundreds of\npeople who came up to the platform. This was very exhausting, but these\nwere to him the moments of fruition--the spiritual harvest of the\nChristian seeds he had scattered over the earth. They were wonderful\nscenes, dramatic in their earnestness, remarkable in the evidence they\nbrought out of his universal influence upon the hearts of men and women.\nEverywhere the same testimony prevailed:\n\n\"You saved my father, God bless you!\" \"You saved my brother, thank God!\"\n\"You made a good woman of me!\" \"You gave me my first start in life!\" In\nthese words they told him their gratitude, as they grasped his hand.\n\nOn these occasions the Doctor's face was wonderful to see as, with the\nsilent pressure of his hand, he looked into the eyes that were filled\nwith tears. Sometimes people would come to me and whisper the same\ntruths about him, and when I would tell him, his answer was\ncharacteristic: \"Eleanor, this is what gives me strength. It is worth\nliving to hear people tell me these things.\"\n\nDr. Talmage's instincts were big, evangelical impulses. I often used to\nurge him to relinquish his pastorate; but he would reply that after all\nthe Church was his candlestick; that he must have a place to hold his\ncandle while he preached to a world of all nations. Yet he often said he\nwould rather have been an unfettered evangelist, bent on saving the\nworld, than the pastor of any one flock or church. To preach to the\npeople was the breath of his life. It was the restless energy of his\nsoul that kept him for ever young. He would put all his strength into\nevery sermon he preached, and every lecture he delivered.\n\nDr. Talmage had absolutely no personal vanity. He was a man absorbed in\nideas, indifferent to appearances. He lived in the opportunities of his\nheart and mind to help others; although he had been one of the most\ntried of men, he had never spared himself to help others. He never lost\nfaith in anyone. There were many shrewd enough to realise this\ncharacteristic in him, who would put a finger on his heart and draw out\nof him all he had to give.\n\nOn one occasion we were travelling through Iowa, when a big snow storm\nmade it evident that we could not make connections to meet an engagement\nhe had made to lecture that evening in Marietta, Ohio. He had just said\nto me that after all he was glad, because he was very tired and needed\nthe rest. Will Carleton was on the same train, bound for Zanesville,\nOhio, to give a lecture that night. He was very much afraid that he,\ntoo, would miss his engagement. He asked the Doctor to telegraph to the\nrailroad officials to hold the limited at Chicago Junction, which the\nDoctor did. The result was that we were whisked in a carriage across\nChicago and whirled on a special car to the junction, where the limited\nwas held for us, much to the disgust of the other passengers.\n\nHe saw the mercy of God in every calamity, the beauty of faith in Him in\nevery mood of earth or sky. One spring day we were sitting in the room\nof a friend's house. There were flowers in the room, and Dr. Talmage\nloved these children of nature. He always said that flowers were\nappropriate for all occasions. Some one said to him, \"Doctor, how have\nyou kept your faith in people, your sweet interpretation of human\nnature, in spite of the injustice you have sometimes been shown?\"\nLooking at a great bunch of sweet peas on the table, he said: \"Many\nyears ago I learned not to care what the world said of me so long as I\nmyself knew I was right and fair, and how can one help but believe when\nthe good God above us makes such beautiful things as these flowers?\"\n\nHis creed, as I learned it, was perfect faith, and the universal\ncommands of human nature to live and let live. Although I was destined\nto share less than five years of his life, there was in the whole of it\nno chapter or incident with which he did not acquaint me. He was not a\nman of theory. No one could live near him without awe of his genius.\n\nWe returned to Washington after this spring lecturing tour, where the\nDoctor resumed his preaching twice on Sunday, and his mid-week lecture,\ntill June. Then, according to Dr. Talmage's custom, we went to Saratoga\nfor a few weeks before the crowds came for the season. The Doctor found\nthe Saratoga Springs beneficial and made it a rule to go there for a\ntime each summer. On July 3, 1898, we started for the Pacific coast on\nwhat Dr. Talmage called a summer vacation. On his desk there was always\na great number of invitations to preach and lecture awaiting his\nacknowledgment or refusal. The greatest problem of the last years of his\nlife was how to find time for all the things he was asked to do and\nwanted to do. In vain I tried to make him conform to the usual plans of\na summer outing. He asked me if he might take a \"few lectures\" on our\nroute to California, and he did, but he always managed to slip in a few\nextra ones without my knowledge. When I would protest about these\nadditional engagements he would say that the people wanted to hear him,\nthat they were new people he had never seen, which meant more to him\nthan anything else; then, of course, I had to yield my judgment.\n\nIt had been Dr. Talmage's original plan to go to Europe during this\nfirst summer of our marriage, but the outbreak of the Spanish war made\nhim afraid he might not be able to get back in time for his church work\nin October. Although ostensibly this was a vacation trip, it was so only\nin the spirit and gaiety of the Doctor's moods. Three times a week Dr.\nTalmage lectured, and preached once, sometimes twice, every Sunday. From\nCincinnati westward to Denver, we zigzagged over the country, keeping in\nconstant pursuit of the Doctor's engagements. No argument on our part\ncould alter these working plans which my husband had made before we left\nWashington. He was so happy, however, in the midst of his energies, that\nwe forgot the exertion of his labours.\n\nThe three places where, by agreeable lapses, Dr. Talmage really enjoyed\na rest, were Colorado Springs, the Yellowstone Park, and Coronado Beach\nin California. Aside from these points, we were travelling incessantly\nin the Doctor's reflected glory, which was our vacation, but by no means\nhis. While at Colorado Springs, where we stayed two weeks, Dr. Talmage\npreached once, and once in Denver, but he did not lecture.\n\nIn Salt Lake City the Doctor preached in the Tabernacle, the throne room\nof polygamy, that he had so often attacked in previous years. That was a\nremarkable feature of these last milestones of his life, that all\nconflicts were forgotten in a universal acknowledgment of his\nevangelism. His grasp of every subject was always close to the hearts of\nothers, and it was instinctive, not studied.\n\nDuring our visit in the West, he talked much of the effect of the\nSpanish war, regarding our victory in Cuba and the Philippines as an\nadvance to civilisation.\n\nWe entered the Yellowstone Park at Minado and drove through the geyser\ncountry. We stopped at Dwelly's, a little log-cabin famous to all\ntravellers, just before entering the park. On leaving there, we had been\ntold that there were occasional hold-ups of parties travelling in\nprivate vehicles, as we were. The following day, while passing along a\nlonely road, a man suddenly leaped from the bushes and seized the\nbridles of the horses. The Doctor appeared to be terribly frightened,\nand we were all very much excited when we saw that the driver had missed\nhis aim when he fired at the bandit. The robber was of the appearance\napproved in dime novels; he wore a sacking over his head with eye-holes\ncut in it through which he could see, and looked in all other respects\na disreputable cut-throat. Just as we were about to surrender our jewels\nand money, Dr. Talmage confessed that he had arranged the hold-up for\nour benefit, and that it was a practical joke of his. He was always full\nof mischief, and took delight in surprising people.\n\nOn Sunday Dr. Talmage preached in the parlours of the Fountain Hotel.\nThe rooms were crowded with the soldiers who were stationed in the park.\nThe Doctor's sermon was on garrison duty; he said afterwards that he\nfound it extremely difficult to talk there because the rooms were small,\nand the people were too close to him. We paid a visit to Mr. Henderson,\nwho was an official of the Yellowstone Park at that time, and whose\nbrother was Speaker of the House in Washington. He begged Dr. Talmage to\nuse his influence with members of Congress to oppose a project which had\nbeen started, to build a trolley line through the Yellowstone Park. The\nDoctor promised to do so, and I think the trolley line has not been\nbuilt. We left the Yellowstone Park, at Cinabar, and went direct to\nSeattle. During our stay in Seattle the whole town was excited one\nmorning by the arrival of a ship from the Klondike, that region of\ngolden romance and painful reality. The Doctor and I went down to the\nwharf to see the great ship disembark these gold-diggers; but for\nseveral hours the four hundred passengers had been detained on board\nbecause $24,000 in gold dust, carried by two miners, had been stolen;\nand though a search had been instituted, to which everyone had been\ncompelled to submit, no clue to the thief had been found. Dr. Talmage\nwas profoundly impressed by the misfortune of these two men, who after\nmonths of exposure and fatigue were now obliged to walk ashore\npenniless. A number of these four hundred passengers had brought back\nan aggregate of about $4,000,000 from the Klondike; but many among them\nhad brought back only disappointment, and their haggard faces were\npitiful to see; indeed, the Doctor told me that out of the thousands who\nwent fortune hunting to Alaska, only about 3 per cent. came back richer\nthan when they started.\n\nIn the early part of September Dr. Talmage lectured in San Francisco on\nInternational Policies. His admiration of the Czar's manifesto for\ndisarmament of the nations was unbounded, and he emphasised it whenever\nhe appeared in public. He prophesied the millennium as if he looked\nforward to personal experiences of it; this came from his remarkable\nconfidence in the life forces nature had given him. At Coronado Beach we\ndetermined upon a rest for two weeks; but the Doctor could in no wise be\ninduced to forego his lecture at San Diego. A pleasant visit to Los\nAngeles was followed by a delightful sojourn of a few days at Santa\nBarbara, the floral paradise of the Golden Coast; here the Doctor was\nmet at the station by carriages, and we were literally smothered in\nflowers; even our rooms in the hotel were banked high with roses. In the\nafternoon we accepted an invitation to drive through Santa Barbara,\nhoping against hope that we might do so inconspicuously. But the same\nflower-laden carriages came for us, and we were driven through the city\nlike a miniature flower parade. Much to the Doctor's regret he was\nfollowed about like a circus; but his courtesy never failed.\n\nOn our route East we again stopped in San Francisco. An announcement had\nbeen made that Dr. Talmage would preach for the Sunday evening service\nat Calvary Presbyterian Church, on the corner of Powell and Geary\nStreets. Never had I seen such a crowd before. As we made our way to\nthe church, we found the adjoining streets packed so solidly with people\nthat we had to call a policeman to make an opening for us. Once inside,\nwe saw the church rapidly filling, till at last, as a means of\nprotection, the doors were locked against the surging crowd. But Dr.\nTalmage had scarcely begun his sermon when the doors were literally\nbroken down by the crowd outside. Quick to see the danger the Doctor\nsent out word to the people that he would speak in Union Square\nimmediately after the church service. This had the desired effect, and\nthe great crowd waited patiently for him a block away till nine o'clock.\nIt was rather a raw evening because of a fog that had come up from the\nsea, and for this reason the Doctor asked permission to keep his hat on\nwhile he talked from the band stand. It was the first time I ever heard\nhim speak out of doors, and I was amazed to hear how clearly every word\ntravelled, and with what precision his voice carried the exact effect.\nIt was a coincidence that the theme of his sermon should have been,\n\"There is plenty of room in Heaven.\"\n\nThe tremendous enthusiasm, the almost worshipful interest with which he\nwas received, could easily have spoiled any man, but with Dr. Talmage\nsuch an ovation as we had witnessed seemed only to intensify the\nsimplicity of his character. He lost his identity in the elements of\ninspiration, and when he had finished preaching it was not to himself\nbut to the power that had been given him, he gave all the credit of his\ninfluence. He was always simple, direct, unpretentious.\n\nDuring a short stay in Chicago Dr. Talmage preached in his son's church,\nand then hurried home to begin his duties in his own church. Duty was\nthe Doctor's master key; with it he locked himself away from the\nmediocre, and unlocked his way to ultimate freedom of religious\nimpulse. For a long while he had formed a habit of preaching without\nrecompense, as he would have desired to do all his life, because he felt\nthat the power of preaching was a gift from God, a trust to be\ntransmitted without cost to the people. He never missed preaching on\nSunday, paying his own expenses to whatever pulpit he was invited to\noccupy. There were so many invitations that he was usually able to\nchoose. It was this conviction that led to his ultimate resignation from\nhis church in Washington, that he might be free to expound the\nScriptures wherever he was.\n\nHe was always so happy it was hard to believe that he was overworking;\nyet I feared his labour of love would end in exhaustion and possible\nillness. Everything in the world was beautiful to him, and yet beauty\nwas not a matter of externals with him. It radiated from him, even when\nit was not about him. Especially was this noticeable when we were away\ntogether on one of his short lecturing trips. At these times we were\nquite alone, and then, without interruptions, in the sequestered domain\nof some country hotel he would admit me into the wonderland of his inner\nhopes, his plans for the future, his ideas of life and people and\nhappiness. Once we were staying in one of these country hotels obviously\npretentious, but very uncomfortable--the sort of hotel where the walls\nof the room oppress you, and the furniture astonishes you, and there are\nno private baths. He sat down in the largest chair, literally beaming\nwith delight.\n\n\"Isn't it beautiful?\" he said; \"now I take my home with me; before I\nused to be so much alone. Now I have someone to talk to.\"\n\nThere was nothing comparative in his happiness; everything was made\nperfect for him by the simplicity of his appreciation. I used to look\nforward to these trips as one might look forward to an excursion into\nsome new and unexpected transport of existence, for he always had new\nwonders of heart and mind to reveal in these obscure byways we explored\ntogether. They were all too short, and yet too full for time to record\nthem in a diary. These were the hours that one puts away in the secret\nchamber of unwritten and untold feeling. I turn again to the pages of\nour scrap book, as one turns to the dictionary, for reserve of language.\n\nIn November of 1898 I find there a clipping that reminds me of the day\nDr. Talmage and I spent at the home of Senator Faulkner, in Martinsburg,\nWest Virginia. The Anglo-American Commission was in session in\nWashington then, and during the following winter. The Joint High\nCommission was the official title, and we were invited by Senator\nFaulkner with these men to get a glimpse of that rare Americanism known\nthe world over as Southern hospitality. The foreign members of the\nCommission were Lord Herschel, Sir Wilfred Laurier, Sir Louis Davis, and\nSir Richard Cartwright. Our host was one of the Americans on the\nCommission.\n\nWe left Washington about noon, lunched on the train, and reached the old\nancestral home in a snow storm. All of the available carriages and\ncarry-alls were at our disposal, however, and we were quickly driven to\nthe warm fireside of a true Southerner, who, more than any other kind of\nman, knows how to brand the word \"Home\" upon your memory. We dined with\ntrue Southern sumptuousness. Never shall I forget the resigned and\ncomfortable expression of that little roast pig as it was laid before\nus. To the Englishmen it was a rare chance to understand the cordial\nrelations between England and America, in an atmosphere of Colonial\nsplendour. The house itself has not undergone any change since it was\nbuilt; it stands a complete example of an old ancestral estate. As we\nwere leaving, our host insisted that no friend should leave his house\nwithout tasting the best egg-nog ever made in Virginia. The doctor and I\ndrove to the station in a carriage with Lord Herschel. He was a man of\ngreat reserve and high breeding. On the way he showed us a letter that\nhe had just received from his daughter, a little girl in England,\ntelling him to be sure and come home for the Christmas holidays, and not\nto let those rich Americans keep him away.\n\nThis was the beginning of a series of dinners given by members of the\nJoint High Commission in Washington during the winter, to which we were\noften invited. A few months later Lord Herschel died in Washington. Dr.\nTalmage was almost the last man to see him alive. He called at his hotel\nto invite him to stay at his house, but he was then too ill to be moved.\n\nDuring the early Fall of 1898 the Doctor lectured at Annapolis. It was\nhis first visit to the old historic town, and he was received with all\nthe honour of the place. We were the guests of Governor Lowndes at the\nexecutive mansion, where we were entertained in the evening at dinner.\nJust before the Christmas holidays, Dr. Talmage made a short lecturing\ntrip into Canada, and I went with him; it was my privilege to accompany\nhim everywhere, even for a brief journey of a day.\n\nIn Montreal, while sitting in a box with some Canadian friends, during\none of the Doctor's lectures, they told me how deep was the affection\nand regard for him in England.\n\n\"Wait till you see how the English people receive him,\" they said; \"you\nwill be surprised at the hold that he has on them over there.\" The\nfollowing year I went to England with him, and experienced with pride\nand pleasure the truth of what they had said.\n\nThe end of our first year together seemed to be only the prelude to a\nlong lifetime of companionship and happiness, without age, without\nsorrow, without discord.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SECOND MILESTONE\n\n1899-1900\n\n\nIn his study no wasted hours ever entered. With the exception of the\nstenographer and his immediate family no one was admitted there. It was\nhis eventful laboratory where he conceived the greatest sermons of his\nperiod. I merely quote the opinions of others, far more important than\nmy own, when I say this. It is a sort of haunted room to-day which I\nenter not with any fear, but I can never stay in it very long. It has no\nghostly associations, it is too full of vital memories for that; but it\nis a room that mystifies and silences me, not with mere regrets, for\nthat is sorrow, and there is nothing sad about the place to me. I can\nscarcely convey the impression; it is as though I expected to see him\ncome in at the door at any moment and hear him call my name. The room is\nempty, but it makes me feel that he has only just stepped out for a\nlittle while. The study is at the top of the house, a long, wide,\nhigh-ceilinged room with many windows, from which the tops of trees sway\ngently in the breeze against the sky above and beyond. I spent a great\ndeal of time with him in it. Sometimes he would talk with me there about\nthe themes of his sermons which were always drawn from some need in\nmodern life.\n\nWith the Bible open before him he would seek for a text.\n\n\"After forty years of preaching about all the wonders of this great\nBook,\" he would say, \"I am often puzzled where to choose the text most\nfitting to my sermon.\"\n\nHis habits were methodical in the extreme; his time punctually divided\nby a fixed system of invaluable character. His inspirations were part of\nhis eternal spirit, but he lived face to face with time, obedient to the\nlaw of its precision. I think of him always as of one whose genius was\nunknown to himself.\n\nWe could always tell the time of day by the Doctor's habits. They were\nas regular as a clock that never varies. At 7.30 to the second he was at\nthe breakfast table. It was exactly one o'clock when he sat down to\ndinner. At 6.30 his supper was before him. Some of our household would\nhave preferred dining in the evening, but in that case the Doctor would\nhave dined alone, which was out of the question.\n\nEvery day of his life, excepting Friday, Saturday and Sunday, the Doctor\nwalked five miles. In bad weather he went out muffled and booted like a\nsailor on a stormy sea. His favourite walk was always from our house to\nthe Capitol, around the Library of Congress and back. He never varied\nthis walk for he had no bump of locality, and he was afraid of losing\nhis way. If he strayed from the beaten path into any one of the\nbeautiful squares in Washington he was sure to have to ask a policeman\nhow to get home.\n\nFridays and Saturdays Dr. Talmage spent entirely in his study, dictating\nhis sermons. How many miles he walked these days he himself never knew,\nbut all day long he tramped back and forth the length of his study,\ncomposing and expounding in a loud voice the sermon of the week. He\ncould be heard all over the house. We had a new servant once who came\nrushing downstairs to my room one morning in great fear.\n\n\"Mrs. Talmage, ma'am, there is a crazy man in that room on the top\nfloor,\" she cried. She had not seen nor heard the Doctor, and did not\nknow that that room was his study. On these weekend days we always drove\nafter dark. An open carriage was at the door by 8 o'clock, and no matter\nwhat the weather might be we had our drive. In the dead of winter,\nwrapped in furs and rugs, we have driven in an open carriage just as if\nit were summer. Usually we went up on Capitol Hill because the Doctor\nwas fond of the view from that height.\n\nMy share in the Doctor's labours were those of a watchful companion, who\nappreciated his genius, but could give it no greater light than sympathy\nand admiration. Occasionally he would ask me to select the hymns for the\nservices, and this I did as well as I could. Sunday was the great day of\nthe week to me. It has never been the same since the Doctor died. Our\nfriendships were always mutual, and we shared them with equal pleasure.\nThe Doctor's friendship with President McKinley was an intimate mutual\nassociation that ended only with the great national disaster of the\nPresident's assassination. Very often, we walked over in the morning to\nthe White House to call on the President for an informal chat. A little\nschool friend, who was visiting my daughter that winter, told my husband\nhow anxious she was to see a President.\n\n\"Come on with me, I will show you a real President,\" said Dr. Talmage\none morning, and over we went to the White House. While we were talking\nwith the President, Mrs. McKinley came in from a drive and sent word\nthat she wished to see us.\n\n\"I want to show you the President's library and bedroom,\" she said,\n\"that you may see how a President lives.\" Then she took us upstairs and\nshowed us their home.\n\nWhile we did not keep open house, there was always someone dropping in\nto take dinner or supper informally, and I was somewhat surprised when\nDr. Talmage told me one day that he thought we ought to give some sort\nof entertainment in return for our social obligations. It was not quite\nlike him to remember or think of such things. On January 23, 1899, we\ngave an evening reception, to which over 300 people came. It was the\nfirst social affair of consequence the Doctor had ever given in his\nhouse in Washington.\n\nMy husband's memory for names was so uncertain that when he introduced\nme to people he tactfully mumbled. On this occasion Senator Gorman very\nkindly stood near me to identify the people for me. I remember a very\ndapper, very little man in evening clothes, who was passed on to me by\nthe Doctor, with the usual unintelligible introduction, and I had just\nbegun to make myself agreeable when, pointing to a medal on his coat,\nthe little man said:\n\n\"I am the only woman in the United States who has been honoured with one\nof these medals.\"\n\nI was very much mystified and looked up helplessly at Senator Gorman,\nwho relieved me at once by saying, \"Mrs. Talmage, this is the celebrated\nDr. Mary Walker, of whom you have heard so often.\"\n\nIt was difficult for Dr. Talmage to assimilate the social obligations\nof life with the broader demands of his life mission, which seemed to\nconstantly extend and increase in scope into the far distances of the\nworld. More and more evident it became that the candlestick of his\nreligious doctrine could no longer be maintained in one church, or in\none pulpit. The necessity of breaking engagements out of town so as to\nbe in Washington every Sunday became irksome to him. He felt that he\ncould do better in the purposes of his usefulness as a preacher if he\nwere to bear the candle of his Gospel in a candlestick he could carry\neverywhere himself. I confess that I was not sorry when he reached this\ndecision and submitted his resignation to the First Presbyterian Church\nin the spring of 1899, after our return from a short vacation in\nFlorida.\n\nOn our trip South I remember Admiral Schley was on the train with us\npart of the way. The Admiral told the Doctor the whole story of the\nSantiago victory, and commented upon the official investigation of the\naffair. My husband was very fond of him, and his comment was summed up\nin his reassuring answer to the Admiral--\"But you were there.\"\n\nIt was during our stay in Florida that Dr. Talmage and Joseph Jefferson,\nthe actor, renewed their acquaintance. The Doctor never saw him act\nbecause he had made it a rule after he entered the ministry in his youth\nnever to go to the theatre to see a play. In crossing the ocean he had\nfrequently appeared with stage celebrities, at the usual entertainments\ngiven on board ship for the benefit of seamen, and in this way had made\nsome friends among actors. He was particularly fond of Madame Modjeska,\nwhom he had met on the steamer, and whose character and spirit he\ngreatly admired.\n\nJefferson was a great fisherman, and most of his day was spent on the\nwater or on the pier. There we used to meet him, and he and Dr. Talmage\nwould exchange reminiscences, serious and ludicrous. One of the Doctor's\nfavourite stories was an account of a terrific fight he saw in India,\nbetween a mongoose and a cobra. Mr. Jefferson also had a story, a sort\nof parody of this, which described a man in _delirium tremens_ watching\nin imaginary terror a similar fight. Years before this, when the Doctor\nhad delivered his famous sermon in Brooklyn against the stage, Jefferson\nwas among the actors who went to hear him. Recalling this incident, Mr.\nJefferson said:--\n\n\"When I entered that church to hear your sermon, Doctor, I hated you.\nWhen I left the church, I loved you.\" He talked very little of the\ntheatre, and seemed to regard his stage career with less importance than\nhe did his love of painting. He never grew tired of this subject.\n\nWhen we were leaving Palm Beach, Mr. Jefferson said to me, \"I know Dr.\nTalmage won't come and see me act, but when I am in Washington I will\nsend you a box, and I hope the Doctor will let you come.\"\n\nDr. Talmage's resignation from his church in Washington took place in\nMarch, 1899. I quote his address to the Presbytery because it was a\nmomentous event occurring in the gloaming of what seemed to us all,\nthen, the prime of his life:\n\n    \"March 3, 1899.\n\n    \"To the Session of the First Presbyterian Church of Washington.\n\n    \"Dear Friends--\n\n    \"The increasing demands made upon me by religious journalism, and\n    the continuous calls for more general work in the cities, have of\n    late years caused frequent interruption of my pastoral work. It is\n    not right that this condition of affairs should further continue.\n    Besides that, it is desirable that I have more opportunity to meet\n    face to face, in religious assemblies, those in this country and in\n    other countries to whom I have, through the kindness of the printing\n    press, been permitted to preach week by week, and without the\n    exception of a week, for about thirty years. Therefore, though very\n    reluctantly, I have concluded, after serving you nearly four years\n    in the pastoral relation, to send this letter of resignation....\n\n    \"T. DEWITT TALMAGE.\"\n\nI had rather expected that the Doctor's release from his church would\nhave had the desired effect of reducing his labours, but he never\naccomplished less than the allotment of his utmost strength. Rest was a\nproblem he never solved, and he did not know what it meant. My life had\nnot been idle by any means, but it seemed to me that the Doctor's\nworking hours were without end. When I told him this, he would say:--\n\n\"Why, Eleanor, I am not working hard at all now. This is very tame\ncompared to what I have done in the years gone by.\"\n\nHis weekly sermon was always put in the mail on Saturday night, as also\nhis weekly editorials. Sunday the sermon was preached, and on Monday\nmorning the syndicate of newspapers in this country printed it. He made\nalways two copies of his sermon. One he sent to his editorial offices in\nNew York, the other was delivered to the _Washington Post_. I was told a\nlittle while ago that a prominent preacher called on the editor of this\nnewspaper and asked him to publish one of his own sermons. This was\nrefused, even when the aforesaid preacher offered to pay for the\nprivilege.\n\n\"But you print Talmage's sermons!\" said the preacher.\n\n\"We do,\" replied the editor, \"because we find that our readers demand\nthem. We tried to do without them, but we could not.\"\n\nDr. Talmage's acquaintance with men of national reputation was very\nwide, but he never seemed to consider their friendship greater than any\nothers. He was a great hero worshipper himself, always impressed by a\nman who had done something in the world. There was a great deal of\npraise being bestowed about this time on Mr. Carnegie's library gifts.\nDr. Talmage admired the Scottish-American immensely, having formed his\nacquaintance while crossing the ocean. Five or six years later, during\nthe winter of 1899, the Doctor met him in one of the rooms of the White\nHouse. He tells this anecdote in his own words, as follows:--\n\n    \"I was glad I was present that day, when Mr. Andrew Carnegie decided\n    upon the gift of a library to the city of Washington. I was in one\n    of the rooms of the White House talking with Governor Lowndes, of\n    Maryland, and Mr. B.H. Warner, of Washington, who was especially\n    interested in city libraries. Mr. Carnegie entered at the opposite\n    end of the room. We greeted each other with heartiness, not having\n    met since we crossed the ocean together some time before. I asked\n    Mr. Carnegie to permit me to introduce him to some friends. After\n    each introduction the conversation immediately turned upon\n    libraries, as Mr. Carnegie was then constantly presenting them in\n    this and other lands. Before the conversation ended that day, Mr.\n    Carnegie offered $250,000 for a Washington library. I have always\n    felt very happy at having had anything to do with that interview,\n    which resulted so gloriously.\"\n\nDr. Talmage's opinions upon the aftermath of the Spanish war were widely\nquoted at this time.\n\n    \"The fact is this war ought never to have occurred,\" he said. \"We\n    have had the greatest naval officer of this century, Admiral Schley,\n    assailed for disobeying orders, and General Shatter denounced for\n    being too fat and wanting to retreat, and General Wheeler attacked\n    because of something else. We are all tired of this investigating\n    business. I never knew a man in Church or State to move for an\n    investigating committee who was not himself somewhat of a hypocrite.\n    The question is what to do with the bad job we have on hand. I say,\n    educate and evangelise those islands.\"\n\nAs he wrote he usually talked, and these words are recollections of the\nsubjects he talked over with me in his quieter study hours. They were\nvirile talks, abreast of the century hurrying to its close, full of\ncheerfulness, faith, and courage for the future.\n\nHe was particularly distressed and moved by the death of Chief Justice\nField, in April, 1899. It was his custom to read his sermons to me in\nhis study before preaching. He chose for his sermon on April 16, the\ndecease of the great jurist, and his text was Zachariah xi, 2: \"Howl fir\ntree, for the cedar has fallen.\" Many no doubt remember this sermon, but\nno one can realise the depths of feeling with which the Doctor read it\nto me in the secret corner of his workroom at home. But his heart was in\nevery sermon. He said when he resigned from his church:--\n\n\"The preaching of the Gospel has always been my chosen work, I believe\nI was called to it, and I shall never abandon it.\"\n\nDuring this season in Washington we gave a few formal dinners. My\nhusband wished it, and he was a cheerful, magnetic host, though he\naccepted few invitations to dinner himself. No wine was served at these\ndinners, and yet they were by no means dull or tiresome. Our guests were\nmen of ideas, men like Justice Brewer, Speaker Reed, Senator Burrows,\nJustice Harlan, Vice-President Fairbanks, Governor Stone, and Senators\nwho have since become members of the old guard. It was said in\nWashington at the time that Dr. Talmage's dinner parties were\ndelightful, because they were ostensible opportunities to hear men talk\nwho had something to say. The Doctor was liberal-minded about\neverything, but his standards of conduct were the laws of his life that\nno one could jeopardise or deny.\n\nA very prominent society woman came to Dr. Talmage one day to ask the\nfavour that he preach a temperance sermon for the benefit of Sir Wilfrid\nLaurier, whom she wanted to interest in temperance legislation. She\npromised to bring him to the Doctor's church for that purpose.\n\n\"Madame, I shall be very glad to have Sir Wilfrid Laurier attend my\nchurch,\" said the Doctor, \"but I never preach at anybody. Your request\nis something I cannot agree to.\" The lady was a personal friend, and she\npersisted. Finally the Doctor said to her:\n\n\"Mrs. G----, my wife and I are invited to meet Sir Wilfrid Laurier at a\ndinner in your house next week. Will you omit the wines at that dinner?\"\nThe lady admitted that that would be impossible.\n\n\"Then you see, Madame, how difficult it would be for me to alter my\nprinciples as a preacher.\" In May, 1899, Dr. Talmage and I left\nWashington and went to East Hampton--alone. Contrary to his usual custom\nof closing his summer home between seasons, the Doctor had allowed a\nminister and his family to live there for three months. Diphtheria had\ndeveloped in the family during that time and the Doctor ordered\neverything in the house to be burned, and the walls scraped. So the\nwhole house had to be refurnished, and the Doctor and I together\nselected the furniture. It was a joyous time, it was like redecorating\nour lives with a new charm and sentiment that was intimately beautiful\nand refreshing. I remember the tenderness with which the Doctor showed\nme a place on the door of the barn where his son DeWitt, who died, had\ncarved his initials. He would never allow that spot to be touched, it\nwas sacred to the memory of what was perhaps the most absorbing\naffection of his life. He always called East Hampton his earthly\nparadise, which to him meant a busy Utopia. He was very fond of the sea\nbathing, and his chief recreation was running on the beach. He was 65\nyears old, yet he could run like a young man. These few weeks were a\nmemorable vacation.\n\nIn June, Dr. Talmage made an engagement to attend the 60th commencement\nexercises of the Erskine Theological College in Due West, South\nCarolina. This is the place where secession was first planned, as it is\nalso the oldest Presbyterian centre in the United States. We were the\nguests of Dr. Grier, the president of the college. It was known that\nRev. David P. Pressly, Presbyterian patriarch and graduate of this\ncollege, had been my father's pastor in Pittsburg, and this association\nadded some interest to my presence in Due West with the Doctor. The Rev.\nE.P. Lindsay, my brother's pastor in Pittsburg, had also been born\nthere, and his mother, when I met her in 1899, was still a vigorous\nSecessionist. Her greatest disappointment was the fact that her son had\nabandoned the sentiments of Secession and had gone to preach in a\nNorthern church. She told us that she had once hidden Jefferson Davis in\nher house for three days. Due West was a quiet little village inhabited\nby some rich people who lived comfortably on their plantations. The\ngraduating class of the college were entertained at dinner by Dr. Grier\nand the Doctor. There was a great deal of comment upon the physical\nvigour and strength of Dr. Talmage's address, most of which reached me.\nA gentleman who was present was reminded of the remarkable energy of the\nRev. Dr. Pressly, who preached for over fifty years, and was married\nthree times. When asked about his health, Dr. Pressly always throughout\nhis life made the same reply, \"Never better; never better.\" After he had\nwon his third wife, however, he used to reply to this question with\ngreater enthusiasm than before, saying, \"Better than ever; better than\never.\" Another resident of Due West, who had heard both the Booths in\ntheir prime, said, \"Talmage has more dramatic power than I ever saw in\nBooth.\" This visit to Due West will always remain in my memory as full\nof sunshine and warmth as the days were themselves.\n\nWe returned to East Hampton for a few days, and on July 4, 1899, the\nDoctor delivered an oration to an immense crowd in the auditorium at\nOcean Grove. This was the beginning of a summer tour of Chautauquas,\nfirst in Michigan, then up the lakes near Mackinaw Island, and later to\nJamestown, New York.\n\nIn the Fall of 1899 we made a trip South, including Nashville, Memphis,\nChattanooga, Birmingham, and New Orleans. One remarkable feature of Dr.\nTalmage's public life was the way in which he was sought as the man of\nuseful opinions upon subjects that were not related to the pulpit. He\nwas always being interviewed upon political and local issues, and his\nviews were scattered broadcast, as if he were himself an official of\nnational affairs. He never failed to be ahead of the hour. He regarded\nthe affairs of men as the basis of his evangelical purpose. The Spanish\nwar ended, and his views were sought about the future policy in the\nEast. The Boer war came, and his opinions of that issue were published.\nNothing moved in or out of the world of import, during these last\nmilestones of his life, that he was not asked about its coming and its\ngoing. His readiness to penetrate the course of events, to wrap them in\nthe sacred veil of his own philosophy and spiritual fabric, combined to\nmake him one of the foremost living characters of his time.\n\nDr. Talmage was the most eager human being I ever knew, eager to see, to\nfeel the heart of all humanity. I remember we arrived in Birmingham,\nAlabama, the day following the disaster that visited that city after the\ngreat cyclone. The first thing the Doctor did on our arrival was to get\na carriage and drive through those sections of the city that had\nsuffered the most. It was a gruesome sight, with so many bodies lying\nabout the streets awaiting burial. But that was his grasp of life, his\nindomitable energy, always alert to see and hear the laws of nature at\nclose range.\n\nWe were entertained a great deal through the South, where I believe my\nhusband had the warmest friends and a more cordial appreciation than in\nany other part of the country. There was no lack of excitement in this\nlife that I was leading at the elbow of the great preacher, and\nsometimes he would ask me if the big crowds did not tire me. To him they\nwere the habit of his daily life, a natural consequence of his industry.\nHowever, I think he always found me equal to them, always happy to be\nnear him where I could see and hear all.\n\nIn October of this year we returned to Washington, when the\nPan-Presbyterian Council was in session, and we entertained them at a\nreception in our house till late in the evening. The International Union\nof Women's Foreign Missionary Societies of the Presbyterian and Reformed\nChurches were also meeting in Washington at this time, and they came. At\none of the meetings of the Council Dr. Talmage invited them all to his\nhouse from the platform in his characteristic way.\n\n\"Come all,\" he said, \"and bring your wives with you. God gave Eve to\nAdam so that when he lost Paradise he might be able to stand it. She was\ntaken out of man's side that she might be near the door of his heart,\nand have easy access to his pockets. Therefore, come, bringing the\nladies with you. My wife and I shall not be entertaining angels\nunawares, but knowing it all the while. To have so much piety and brain\nunder one roof at once, even for an hour or two, will be a benediction\nto us all the rest of our lives. I believe in the communion of saints as\nmuch as I believe in the life everlasting.\"\n\nIn November, 1899, Dr. Talmage installed the Rev. Donald McLeod as\nsucceeding pastor of the First Presbyterian Church in Washington, and\ndelivered the installation address, the subject of which was,\n\"Invitation to Outsiders.\" There had been some effort to inspire the\npeople of Washington to build an independent Tabernacle for the Doctor\nafter his resignation, but he himself was not in sympathy with the\nmovement because of the additional labour and strain it would have put\nupon him.\n\nAs the winter grew into long, gray days, we were already planning a trip\nto Europe for the following year of 1900, and we were anticipating this\nevent with eager expectancy as the time grew near.\n\n\n\n\nTHE THIRD MILESTONE\n\n1900-1901\n\n\nSo much has been written about Dr. Talmage the world over, that I am\ntempted to tell those things about him that have not been written, but\nit is difficult to do. He stood always before the people a sort of\nradiant mystery to them. He was never really understood by those whom he\nmost influenced. A writer in an English newspaper has given the best\ndescription of his appearance in 1900 I ever saw. It is so much better\nthan any I could make that I quote it, regretting that I do not know the\nauthor's name:--\n\n\"A big man, erect and masterful in spite of advancing years, with an\nexpressive and mobile mouth that seems ever smiling, and with great and\nspeaking eyes which proclaim the fervent soul beneath.\"\n\nThis portrait is very true, with a suggestion of his nature that makes\nit a faithful transcript of his presence. It is a picture of him at 66\nyears of age. His strength overwhelmed people, and yet he was very\nsimple, easily affected by the misfortunes of others, direct in all his\nimpressions; but no one could take him by surprise, because his faith in\nthe eternal redemption of all trials was beyond the ways of the world.\nHis optimism was simple Christianity. He always said he believed there\nwas as great a number out of the Church as there was in it that followed\nthe teaching of Christianity. He was among the believers, with his\nutmost energy alert to save and comfort the unbelievers. He believed in\neverything and everyone. The ingenuousness of his nature was childlike\nin its unchallenged faith and its tender instincts. His unworldliness\nwas almost legendary in its belief of human nature. I remember he was\nasked once whether he believed in Santa Claus, and in his own beautiful\nimagery he said:\n\n\"I believe in Santa Claus. Haven't I listened when I was a boy and\nalmost heard those bells on the reindeer; haven't I seen the marks in\nthe snow where the sleigh stopped at the door and old Santa jumped out?\nI believed in him then and I believe in him now--believe that children\nshould be allowed to believe in the beautiful mythical tale. It never\nhurt anyone, and I think one of the saddest memories of my childhood is\nof a day when an older brother told me there was no Santa Claus. I\ndidn't believe him at first, and afterwards when I saw those delightful\nmysterious bundles being sneaked into the house, way down deep in my\nheart I believed that Santa Claus as well as my father and mother had\nsomething to do with it.\"\n\nIn the last years of his life music became the greatest pleasure to Dr.\nTalmage. An accumulation of work made it necessary for me to engage a\nsecretary. We were fortunate in securing a young lady who was an\nexquisite pianist. In the evening she would play Liszt's rhapsodies for\nthe Doctor, who enjoyed the Hungarian composer most of all. He said to\nme once that he felt as if music in his study, when he was at work,\nwould be a great inspiration. So my Christmas present to him that year\nwas a musical box, which he kept in his study.\n\nThe three months preceding our trip to Europe were spent in the usual\nbusy turmoil of social and public life. In truth we were very full of\nour plans for the European tour, which was to be devoted to preaching by\nDr. Talmage, and to show me the places he had seen and people he had met\non previous visits. There was something significant in the welcome and\nthe ovations which my husband received over there. Neither the Doctor\nnor myself ever dreamed that it would be his farewell visit. And yet it\nseems to me now that he was received everywhere in Europe as if they\nexpected it to be his last.\n\nI must confess that we looked forward to our jaunt across the water so\neagerly that the events of the preceding months did not seem very\nimportant. With Dr. Talmage I went on his usual lecture trip West,\nstopping in Chicago, where the Doctor preached in his son's church.\nEverywhere we were invited to be the guests of some prominent resident\nof the town we were in. It had been so with Dr. Talmage for years. He\nalways refused, however, because he felt that his time was too\nimperative a taskmaster. For thirty years he had never visited anyone\nover night, until he went to my brother's house in Pittsburg. But we\nwere constantly meeting old friends of his, friends of many years, in\nevery stopping place of our journeys. I remember particularly one of\nthese characteristic meetings which took place in New York, where the\nDoctor, had gone to preach one Sunday. We had just entered the Waldorf\nHotel, where we were stopping, when a little man stepped up to the\nDoctor and began picking money off his coat. He seemed to find it all\nover him. Dr. Talmage laughed, and introduced me to Marshall P. Wilder.\n\n\"Dr. Talmage started me in life,\" said Mr. Wilder, and proceeded to tell\nme how the Doctor had filled him with optimism and success. He was\nalways doing this, gripping young men by the shoulders and shaking them\ninto healthful life. And then men of political or national prominence\nwere always seeking him out, to gain a little dynamic energy and balance\nfrom the Doctor's storehouse of experience and philosophy. He was a\ngiant of helpfulness and inspiration, to everyone who came into contact\nwith him.\n\nIn January we dined with Governor Stone at the executive mansion in\nHarrisburg, where Dr. Talmage went to preach, and on our return from\nEurope Governor Stone insisted upon giving us a great reception and\nwelcome. Of course, those years were stirring and enjoyable, and never\nto be forgotten. The reflected glory is a personal pleasure after all.\n\nIn April, 1900, we sailed on the \"Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse\" bound for\nLondon. The two points of interest the Doctor insisted upon making in\nEurope were the North Cape, to see the Midnight Sun, and the Passion\nPlay at Ober-Ammergau. Hundreds of invitations had been sent to him to\npreach abroad, many of which he accepted, but he could not be persuaded\nto lecture.\n\nThere was never a jollier, more electric companion _de voyage_ than Dr.\nTalmage during the whole of his trip. He was the life of the party,\nwhich included his daughter, Miss Maud Talmage, and my daughter, Miss\nRebekah Collier.\n\nOn a very stormy Sunday, on board ship going over, Dr. Talmage preached,\nholding on to a pillar in the cabin. There were some who wondered how\nhe escaped the tortures of _mal-de-mer_, from which he had always\nsuffered. It was a family secret. Once, when crossing with Mrs.\nVanderbilt, she had given Dr. Talmage an opium plaster, which was\nabsolute proof against the disagreeable consequences of ocean travel.\nWith the aid of this plaster the Doctor's poise was perfect.\nDisembarking at Southampton we did not reach London until 3 a.m., going\nto the hotel somewhat the worse for wear. Temporarily we stopped at the\nLangham, moving later to the Metropole. Before lunch the same day the\nDoctor drove to Westminster Abbey to see the grave of Gladstone. It was\nhis first thought, his first duty. It had been his custom for many years\nto visit the graves of his friends whenever he could be near them. It\nwas a characteristic impulse of Dr. Talmage's to follow to the edge of\neternity those whom he had known and liked. When he was asked in England\nwhat he had come to do there, he said:\n\n\"I am visiting Europe with the hope of reviving old friendships and\nstimulating those who have helped me in the old gospel of kindness.\"\n\nHis range of vision was always from the Gospel point of view, not\nnecessarily denominational. I remember he was asked, while in England,\nif there was an organisation in America akin to the Evangelical Council\nof Free Churches, and he said, while there was no such body, \"there was\na common platform in the United States upon almost every subject.\"\n\nThe principal topic in England then was the Boer War, which aroused so\nmuch hostility in our country. The Doctor's sympathies were with the\nBoers, but he tactfully evaded any public expression of them in England,\nalthough he was interviewed widely on the subject. He never believed in\nrumours that were current, that the United States would interfere in\nthe Transvaal, and prophesied that the American Government would not do\nso--\"remembering their common origin.\"\n\n\"The great need in America,\" he said, \"is of accurate information about\nthe Transvaal affairs. A great many Democratic politicians are trying to\nmake Presidential capital out of the Boer disturbances, but it is\ndoubtful how far these politicians will be permitted to dictate the\npolicy of even their own party.\"\n\nI remember the candidature for President of Admiral Dewey was discussed\nwith Dr. Talmage, who had no very emphatic views about the matter,\nexcept to declare Admiral Dewey's tremendous popularity, and to\nacknowledge his support by the good Democrats of the country. The Doctor\nwas convinced however that Mr. McKinley would be the next President at\nthis time.\n\nThe first service in England which Dr. Talmage conducted was in\nCavendish Chapel at Manchester. The next was at Albert Hall in\nNottingham, under the auspices of the Y.M.C.A. He was described in the\nNottingham newspapers as the \"most alive man in the United States.\" A\ngreat crowd filled the hall at Nottingham, and as usual he was compelled\nto hold an open-air meeting afterwards. The first lecture he ever\ndelivered in England was given in this place twenty-one years before.\n\nNothing interfered with the routine of the Doctor's habits of industry\nduring all this European trip. He had taken over with him the proofs of\nabout 20 volumes of his selected sermons for correction, and all his\nspare moments were spent in perfecting and revising these books for the\nprinter. His sermons were the only monument he wished to leave to\nposterity. It has caused me the deepest regret that these books have not\nbeen perpetuated as he so earnestly wished. In addition to this work he\nwrote his weekly sermon for the syndicate, employing stenographers\nwherever he might be in Europe two days every week for that purpose. And\nyet he never lost interest in the opportunities of travel, eagerly\nplanning trips to the old historic places near by.\n\nNear Nottingham is the famous Byron country which Dr. Talmage had never\nfound time to visit when he was in Europe before. We were told, at the\nhotel in Nottingham, that no visitors were allowed inside Newstead\nAbbey, so that when we ordered a carriage to drive there the hotel\npeople shrugged their shoulders at what they regarded as our American\nirreverence. The rain was coming down in torrents when we started, the\nDoctor more than ever determined to overthrow British custom in his\nquiet, positive way. Through slush and mud, under dripping trees, across\ncountry landscapes veiled in the tender mist of clouds, we finally\narrived at the Abbey. The huge outer gates were open, but the driver,\nwith proper British respect for the law, stopped his horses. The Doctor\nleaned his head out of the carriage window and told him to drive into\nthe grounds. Obediently he did so, and at last we reached the great\nheavy doors of the entrance. Dr. Talmage jumped out and boldly rang the\nbell. A sentry appeared to inform us that no one was allowed inside the\nAbbey.\n\n\"But we have come all the way from America to see this place,\" the\nDoctor urged. The sentry, with wooden militarism, was adamant.\n\n\"Is there no one inside in authority?\" the Doctor finally asked. Then\nthe housekeeper was called. She told us that the Abbey belonged to an\nArmy officer and his wife, that her master was away at the war in South\nAfrica where his wife had gone with him, and that her orders were\nimperative.\n\n\"Look here, just let us see the lower floor,\" said Dr. Talmage; \"we have\ncome all the way from New York to see this place,\" and he slipped two\nsovereigns into her hand. Still she was unmoved. My daughter, who was\nthen about 14, was visibly disappointed. England was to her hallowed\nground, and she was keenly anxious to walk in the footsteps of all its\nromance, which she had eagerly absorbed in history. Turning to the\nDoctor, she said, almost tearfully:\n\n\"Why, Doctor Talmage, how can they refuse you?\"\n\nThe housekeeper caught the name.\n\n\"Who did you say this was?\" she asked.\n\n\"Doctor Talmage,\" said my daughter.\n\n\"Dr. Talmage, I was just reading the sermon you preached on Sunday in\nthe Nottingham newspaper, I am sure if my mistress were at home she\nwould be glad to receive you. Come in, come in!\"\n\nSo we saw Newstead Abbey. The housekeeper insisted that we should stay\nto tea, and made us enter our names in the visitors' book, and asked the\nDoctor to write his name on a card, saying, \"I will send this to my\nmistress in South Africa.\"\n\nIn the effort to remember many of the details of our stay in England and\nScotland, I find it necessary to take refuge for information in my\ndaughter's diary. It amused Dr. Talmage very much as he read it page by\npage. I find this entry made in Manchester, where she was not well\nenough to attend church:--\n\n\"Sunday, A.M.--Doctor Talmage preached and I was disappointed that I\ncould not go. The people went wild about the Doctor, and he had to make\nan address after church out-of-doors for those who could not get inside.\nSeveral policemen stood around the church door to keep away the crowd.\nI saw the High Sheriff driving home from church. He was inside a coach\nthat looked as though it had been drawn out of a fairy tale--a huge\ncoach painted red and gold, with crowns or something like them at each\nof the four corners. Two footmen dressed in George III. liveries were\nhanging behind by ribbons, and two on the box, all wearing powdered\nwigs. To be sure, I didn't see much of the Sheriff, but then the coach\nwas the real show after all.\"\n\nMany of the details of the side trips which we made through England and\nScotland have escaped my memory. In looking over my daughter's diary I\nfind them amplified in the manner of girlhood, now lightly touched with\nfancy, now solemn with historical responsibility, now charmed with the\nglamour of romance. Dr. Talmage thought so well of them that they will\nserve to show the trail of his footsteps through the gateways of\nancestral England.\n\nWe went to Haddon Hall with Dr. Wrench, physician to the Duke of\nDevonshire. We drove from Bakewell. In this part of my daughter's diary\nI read:--\n\n\"It was a most beautiful drive. Derbyshire is called the Switzerland of\nEngland. The hills were quite high and beautifully wooded, and our drive\nlay along the river's edge--a brook we would call it in the States, but\nit is a river here--and winds in and out and through the fields and\naround the foot of the highest hill of all, called the Peak of\nDerbyshire. We passed picturesque little farmhouses, built of square\nblocks of rough, grey stone covered with ivy. We drove between hawthorn\nhedges, through beautiful green fields and orchards. From the midst of a\nlittle forest of grand old trees we caught sight of the highest tower of\nthe castle, then we crossed over a little stone bridge and passed\nthrough the gates. Another short drive across the meadow and we stopped\nat the foot of a little hill, looking up at Haddon Hall.\n\n\"We walked up to the castle and stood before the great iron-studded oak\ndoor, which has been there since the days of Queen Elizabeth. It had not\nbeen opened for years, but a smaller one had been cut in it through\nwhich visitors passed. For over 200 years no one had lived in the\ncastle. It was built by the Normans and given by William the Conqueror\nto one of his Norman Barons. Finally by marriage it became the property\nof Sir George Vernon, who had two daughters, famous for their beauty.\nMargaret Vernon married a Stanley, and on the night of the wedding\nDorothy Vernon eloped with Mr. John Manners. The story is very romantic.\nThe ballroom from which Dorothy stole away when the wedding party was at\nits height is still just as it was then, excepting for the furniture.\nFrom the windows you can see the little stone bridge where Manners\nwaited for her with the horses. Haddon Hall became the property of\nDorothy Manners and has remained in the hands of the Rutland family,\nbeing now owned by the Duke of Rutland.\n\n\"That is the romance of Haddon Hall, but one could make up a hundred to\noneself when one walks through the different rooms. What a queer feeling\nit gives me to go through the old doorways, to stop and look through the\nqueer little windows, and on the courtyard, wondering who used, long\nago, to look out of the same windows. I wonder what they saw going on in\nthe courtyard?\n\n\"We climbed to the top of the highest tower. The stairway wound upward\nwith stone steps about three feet high cut out of the wall. At intervals\nwe found little square rooms, very possibly where the men at arms\nslept. What a view at the top! The towers and roofs and courtyards of\nthe castle lay before us. All around us the lovely English country, and\nas far as the eye could see, hills, woodland, and the winding river. It\nwas glorious. Maud and I danced a two-step in the ballroom.\n\n\"If stones could only talk! Well, if they could I should want a long\nconfab with each one in the old courtyard of Haddon Hall. Who can tell,\nWilliam the Conqueror himself may have stepped on some of them.\"\n\nWe drove from Haddon Hall to the Peacock Inn for luncheon, going over to\nChatsworth for the afternoon. Again I turn a few leaves of the diary:\n\n\"Chatsworth is one of the homes of the Duke of Devonshire. The park is\nfourteen miles across and I don't know how big it is, but Dr. Wrench\ntold me the number of acres, and I think it was three or four thousand.\nWe drove five miles through the park before reaching the gates of\nChatsworth--shall I call it house or castle? I have pictures of it, and\nit is a good thing for I could not describe it. Dr. Wrench, being the\nDuke's physician, was able to take us through the private rooms. On\nentering the Hall, a broad marble staircase leads to the corridors\nabove, from which others branch out through different parts of the\nhouse. We walked miles, it seems, until we got to the Duke's private\nlibrary. When you are once in the room the doors are shut. You cannot\ntell how you got in or how you will get out. On every wall the bookcases\nare built in and there is not an opening of any kind; not a break in the\nrows and rows of books. The explanation is simply this: the doors\nthemselves are made to look like book shelves, painted on.\n\n\"Chatsworth is so large that were I living there I should want a Cook's\nguide every time I moved. One picture gallery is full of sketches by\nHogarth, and pictures of almost every old master you ever heard of, and\nsome you never heard of. Opening out of this gallery are great glass\ndoors leading into halls into which the different bedrooms open. In one\nbedroom the walls and ceiling were covered with oil paintings, not\nhanging but literally painted on them. The bed was a huge four-poster.\nThe curtains were of heavy brocaded satin. The windows looked out on\nterraces, garden and fountains. I like this room best of all. We were\ntaken through the state apartments where I saw on a throne a huge chair\nof state on a platform, with canopy over it, with the Duke's crest in\ngold woven upon it. In one of the drawing-rooms we saw a life-size\nportrait of Henry VIII., a real true one painted from life, and one of\nPhilip II. of Spain, and of Charles V., and of Anne of Austria. The Duke\nhad sent special word from London to have the fountains in the park play\nfor us, and we watched them from the window. They are beautiful. Such\nnice shower baths for the marble statues on the terrace!\n\n\"The Prince of Wales has often visited Chatsworth, and a funny story was\ntold about one of his visits. It was after dinner and the drawing-room\nwas full of people. Whenever Royalty is present it is expected that the\nmen will wear all their decorations. Well, the Earl of Something-or-other\nhad forgotten one of his, and someone reported this fact to the Prince\nwho sent for the culprit to be brought before him. At the time the\nPrince was seated on one of the huge lounges, on which only a giant\ncould sit and keep his feet on the floor. The Prince was sitting far\nback and his feet stuck straight out in the air. When the guilty man was\nbrought up to be reprimanded the attitude of the Prince was far from\ndignified. His Royal Highness was not really angry, but he told the poor\nEarl of Something-or-other that he must write out the oath of the Order\nthat he had forgotten to wear. It was a long oath and the Earl's memory\nwas not so long.\"\n\nWe went from Nottingham to Glasgow. The date, I find, is May 1, 1900. It\nwas always Dr. Talmage's custom to visit the cemetery first, so we drove\nout to the grave of John Knox. In Glasgow the Doctor preached at the\nCowcaddens Free Church to the usual crowded congregation, and he was\ncompelled to address an overflow meeting from the steps of the church\nafter the regular service. The best part of Dr. Talmage's holiday moods,\nwhich were as scarce as he could make them because of the amount of work\nhe was always doing, were filled with the delight of watching the eager\ninterest in sightseeing of the two girls, Miss Maud Talmage and my\ndaughter. In Glasgow we encountered the usual wet weather of the\nproverbial Scottish quality, and it was Saturday of the week before we\nventured out to see the Lakes. My daughter naively confesses the\nsituation to her journal as follows:--\n\n\"This A.M.--Got up at the usual starting hour, 7 o'clock, and as it\nlooked only dark we decided to go. At breakfast it started to rain again\nand Mamma and the Doctor began to back out, but Maud and I talked to\nsome advantage. We argued that if we were going to sit around waiting\nfor a fair day in this country we might just as well give up seeing\nanything more interesting than hotel parlours and dining-rooms.\n\n\"We started, and just as a 'send off' the old sky opened and let down a\ndeluge of water. It rained all the time we were on Loch Lomond, but that\ndidn't prevent us from being up on deck on the boat. From under\numbrellas we saw the most beautiful scenery in Scotland. Part of this\ntrip was made by coach, always in the pouring rain. We drove on and on\nthrough the hills, seeing nothing but sheep, sheep, sheep. Doctor\nTalmage asked the driver what kind of vegetables they raised in the\nmountains and the driver replied--'mutton.' We had luncheon at a very\npretty little hotel on Loch Katrine, and here boarded a little steamer\nlaunch, 'Rob Roy,' for a beautiful sail. I never, no matter where I\ntravel, expect to look upon a lake more beautiful. The mountains give\nwildness and romance to the calm and quiet of the lake, and the island.\nMaud read aloud to us parts of 'The Lady of the Lake' as we sat out on\ndeck.\"\n\nIn Edinburgh Dr. Talmage preached his well-known sermon upon unrequited\nservices, at the request of Lord Kintore, the son of the Earl of\nKintore, who had suggested the theme to him some years before. In fact\nthe Doctor wrote this sermon by special suggestion of the Earl of\nKintore.\n\nIncidents great and small were such a large part of the eventful trip to\nEurope that it is difficult to make those omissions which the\ndisinterested reader might wish. The Doctor, like ourselves, saw with\nthe same rose-coloured glasses that we did. We were very pleasantly\nentertained in Edinburgh by Lord Kintore and others, but the most\ninteresting dinner party I think was when we were the guests of Sir\nHerbert Simpson, brother of the celebrated Sir James Y. Simpson, the man\nwho discovered the uses of chloroform as an anaesthetic. We dined in the\nvery room where the discovery was first tested. When Dr. Simpson had\ndecided upon a final experiment of the effects of chloroform as an\nanaesthetic, he invited three or four of his colleagues and friends to\nshare the test with him. They met in the very room where we dined with\nSir Herbert Simpson and his family. The story goes that when everything\nhad been prepared for the evening's work, Dr. Simpson informed \"Sandy,\"\nan old servant, that he must not be disturbed under any circumstances,\ntelling him not to venture inside the door himself until 5 a.m. Then, if\nno one had left the room, he was to enter. \"Sandy\" obeyed these\ninstructions to the letter, and came into the room at 5 in the morning.\nHe was very much shocked to find his master and the others under the\ntable in a stupor. \"I never thought my master would come to this,\" said\nSandy. He was still in the employ of the family, being a very old man.\n\nDr. Talmage's engagements took him from Edinburgh to Liverpool, where he\npreached. It was while there that we made a visit to Hawarden to see\nMrs. Gladstone. The Doctor had been to Hawarden before as the guest of\nMr. Gladstone, and was disappointed to find that Mrs. Gladstone was too\nill to be seen by anyone. We were entertained, however, by Mrs. Herbert\nGladstone. I remember how much the Doctor was moved when he saw in the\nhall at Hawarden a bundle of walking sticks and three or four hats\nhanging on the hat-rack, as Mr. Gladstone had left them when he died.\n\nFrom Liverpool we went to Sheffield, where Dr. Talmage preached to an\nimmense congregation. It was in May, the time when all England is\nflower-laden, when the air is as sweet as perfume and the whole\ncountryside is as fascinating as a garden. It was the coaching season,\ntoo, and the Doctor entered into the spirit of these beautiful days very\nhappily. We took a ten days' trip from Leamington after leaving\nSheffield, coaching through the exquisite scenery around about Warwick,\nKenilworth, and the Shakespeare country in Stratford-on-Avon. Most of\nthese reminiscences are full of incidents too intimate for public\ninterest. Like a dream that lifts one from prosaic life into the places\nof precious remembrance I recall these long, happy days in the glorious\nsunset of his life.\n\nWe returned to London in time for the Doctor's first preaching\nengagement there on May 28, 1900. The London newspapers described him as\n\"The American Spurgeon.\"\n\n\"And now before the services opened at St. James' Hall a congregation of\n3,000 people waited to hear Dr. Talmage,\" says a London newspaper. Then\nit goes on to say further:--\n\n\"Dr. Talmage, who has preached from pulpits all over the world, may be\ndescribed as an 'American Spurgeon.' None of our great English speakers\nis less of an orator. Dr. Talmage is a great speaker, but his power as\nan orator is not by any means that of a Gladstone or a Bright. It lies\nmore in the matter than in the manner, in his wonderful imagery, the\nvividness with which he conjures up a picture before the congregation.\nHe is a great artist in words. Dr. Talmage affects nothing; he is\nnaturalness itself in the pulpit, and the manner of his speech suggests\nthat he is angry with his subject. The sermon on this occasion lent\nitself well to a master of metaphor such as Dr. Talmage, it being a\nreview of the last great battle of the world, when the forces of right\nand wrong should meet for the final mastery.\"\n\nDr. Talmage rarely preached this sermon because it was a great tax on\nhis memory. It included a suggestion of all the great battles of the\nearth, a vivid description of the armies of the world marching forward\nin the eternal human struggle of right against wrong until they were\nmasked for the last great battle of all, when \"Satan would take the\nfield in person, in whose make-up nothing bad was left out, nothing good\nwas put in.\"\n\nIt is very remarkable to see the universal acknowledgments of the\nDoctor's genius in England, one of the London newspapers going so far as\nto describe him in its headlines as \"America's Apostle.\" Nothing I could\nwrite about him could be more in eulogy, more in sympathy in\ncomprehension of his brilliant sacred message to the world. England\nproclaimed him as he was, with deep sincerity and reverence.\n\nHis favourite sermon, and it was mine also, was upon the theme of\nunrequited services, the text being from I Samuel xxx. 24, \"But as his\npart is that goeth down to the battle, so shall his part be that\ntarrieth by the stuff.\" It was in this sermon that Dr. Talmage made\nreference to Florence Nightingale, in the following words:--\n\n\"Women, your reward in the eternal world will be as great as that of\nFlorence Nightingale, the Lady of the Lamp.\" While in London he preached\nthis sermon, and the following day to our surprise the Doctor received\nthe following note at his hotel:--\n\n    \"June 3, 1900.\n    \"10, South Street,\n    \"Park Lane.\n\n    \"Dear Sir--\n    \"I could gladly see you to-morrow (Monday) at 5.--Yours faithfully,\n    \"FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.\n    \"T. DeWitt Talmage, of America.\"\n\nI have carefully kept the letter in my autograph album.\n\nDr. Talmage and I called at the appointed time. It was a beautiful\nsummer day and we found the celebrated woman lying on a couch in a room\nat the top of the house, the windows of which looked out on Hyde Park.\nShe was dressed all in white. Her face was exquisitely spiritual, calm,\nsweet with the youth of a soul that knew no age. She had never known\nthat she had been called 'The Lady of the Lamp' by the soldiers of the\nCrimea till she read of it in the Doctor's sermon. She was curious to be\ntold all about it. In conversation with the Doctor she made many\ninquiries about America and the Spanish war, making notes on a pad of\nwhat he said. The Doctor told her that she looked like a woman who had\nnever known the ordinary conflicts of life, as though she had always\nbeen supremely happy and calm in her soul. I remember she replied that\nshe had never known a day's real happiness till she began her work as a\nnurse on the battlefield.\n\n\"I was not always happy,\" she said; \"I had my idle hours when I was a\ngirl.\" I may not remember her exact words, but this is the sense of\nthem. She was past 82 years of age at the time.\n\nEnjoying the intervals of sight-seeing, such as the Tower, the Museum,\nWestminster Abbey, and the usual wonders of historical London, we\nremained in town several weeks. I remember a visit which Mr. Choate, the\nAmerican Ambassador, made us with a view to extending any courtesy he\ncould for the Doctor while we were in England. I told him that I was\nmore anxious to see the British Parliament in session than anything\nelse.\n\n\"I should think, as Dr. Talmage has with him a letter from the President\nof the United States, this request could be arranged,\" I said.\n\nMr. Choate gracefully replied that Dr. Talmage required no introduction\nanywhere, not even from the President, and arranged to have the Charge\nd'Affaires, Mr. White, who was later Ambassador to France, take us over\nto the Houses of Parliament, where we were permitted a glimpse of the\nMembers at work from the cage enclosure reserved for lady visitors.\n\nThe Doctor's friends in England did their best to make us feel at home\nin London. We were dined and lunched, and driven about whenever Dr.\nTalmage could spare time from his work. Sir Alfred Newton, the Lord\nMayor, and Lady Newton gave us a luncheon at the Mansion House on June\n5, 1900. I remember the date because it was an epoch in the history of\nEngland. During the luncheon the news reached the Lord Mayor of the\ncapture of Pretoria. He ordered a huge banner to be hung from the\nMansion House on which were the words--\n\n\"THE BRITISH FLAG FLIES AT PRETORIA.\"\n\nThis was the first intimation of the event given to Londoners in that\npart of the city. Side by side with it another banner proclaimed the\nNational prayer, \"God Save the Queen,\" in big red letters on the white\nbackground. A scene of wild enthusiasm and excitement followed. Every\nEnglishman in that part of London, I believe, began to shout and cheer\nat the top of his lungs. An immense crowd gathered in the adjoining\nstreets around the Mansion House. The morning war news had only\nindicated a prolonged struggle, so that the capture of Pretoria was a\ngreat and joyous surprise to the British heart. Suddenly all hats were\noff, and the crowds in the streets sang the National Anthem. There were\nloud calls for the Lord Mayor to make a speech. We watched it all from\nthe windows in the parlour of the Mansion House, at the corner of Queen\nVictoria Street. Dr. Talmage was as wildly enthusiastic as any\nEnglishman, cheering and waving his arm from the open windows in hearty\naccord with the crowd below. There was no sleep for anyone in London\nthat night. Around our hotel, the blowing of horns and cheering lasted\ntill the small hours of the morning. It seemed very much like the\nexcitement in America after the capture of the Spanish Fleet.\n\nWe left London finally with many regrets, having enjoyed the hospitality\nof what is to me the most attractive country in the world to visit. We\nwent direct to Paris to attend the opening ceremonies of the Paris\nExposition of 1900. It seems like a very old story to tell anything\nto-day of this event, and to Dr. Talmage it was chiefly a repetition of\nthe many Fairs he had seen in his life, but he found time to write a\ndescription of it at the time, which recalls his impressions. He\nregarded it as \"An Object Lesson of Peace and a Tableau of the\nMillennium.\"\n\nHis defence of General Peck, the American Commissioner-General, who was\ncriticised by the American exhibitors, was made at length. He considered\nthese criticisms unjust, and said so. During our stay in Paris Dr.\nTalmage preached at the American churches.\n\nFearing that it would be difficult to secure rooms in Paris during the\nExposition, the Doctor had written from Washington during the winter and\nengaged them at the hotel which a few years before had been one of the\nbest in Paris. Many changes had occurred since he had last been abroad,\nhowever, and we found that the hotel where we had engaged rooms was far\nfrom being suitable for us. The mistake caused some amusement among our\nAmerican friends, who were surprised to find Dr. Talmage living in the\nmidst of a Parisian gaiety entirely too promiscuous for his calling. We\nsoon moved away from this zone of oriental music and splendour to a\nquieter and more remote hotel in the Rue Castiglione.\n\nDr. Talmage was restless, however, to reach the North Cape in the best\nseason to see the Midnight Sun in its glory, and we only remained in\nParis a few days, going from there to the Hague, Amsterdam, and thence\nto Copenhagen in Denmark. In all the cities abroad we were always the\nguests of the American Embassy one evening during our stay, and this\nfrequently led to private dinner parties with some of the prominent\nresidents, which the Doctor greatly enjoyed, because it gave him an\nopportunity to know the foreign people in their homes. I remember one of\nthese invitations particularly because as we drove into the grounds of\nour host's home he ordered the American flag to be hoisted as we\nentered. The garden was beautiful with a profusion of yellow blossoms, a\nnational flower in Denmark known as \"Golden Rain.\" We admired them so\nmuch that our host wanted to present me with sprigs of the trees to\nplant in our home at East Hampton. Dr. Talmage said he was sure that\nthey would not grow out there so near the sea. Remembering Judge\nCollier's grounds in Pittsburg, where every sort of flower grows, I\nsuggested that they would thrive there. Our host took my father-in-law's\naddress, and to-day this \"Golden Rain\" of Denmark is growing beautifully\nin his garden in Pittsburg.\n\nWe saw and explored Copenhagen thoroughly. The King of Denmark was\nabsent from the capital, but we stood in front of his palace with the\nusual interest of visitors, little expecting to be entertained there, as\nafterwards we were. It all came as a surprise.\n\nWe were on our way to the station to leave Copenhagen, when Mr.\nSwenson, the American Minister, overtook us and informed us that the\nCrown Prince and Princess desired to receive Dr. Talmage and his family\nat the summer palace. Though it may be at the risk of _lese majeste_ to\nsay it, some persuasion was necessary to induce the Doctor to remain\nover. Our trunks were already at the station and Dr. Talmage was anxious\nto get up to the North Cape. However, the American Minister finally\nprevailed upon the Doctor to consider the importance of a request from\nroyalty, and we went back to the hotel into the same rooms we had just\nleft.\n\nOur presentation took place the next day at the summer palace, which is\nfive miles from Copenhagen. It was the most informally delightful\nmeeting. The formalities of royalty that are sometimes made to appear so\noverwhelming to the ordinary individual, were so gracefully interwoven\nby the Crown Prince and the Princess with cordiality and courtesy, that\nwe were as perfectly at ease, as if there had been crowns hovering over\nour own heads. The royal children were all present, too, and we talked\nand walked and laughed together like a family party. The Crown Princess\nsaid to me, \"Come, let me show you my garden,\" and we strolled in the\nbeautiful grounds. The Crown Prince said, \"Come, let me show you my\nden,\" and there gave us the autographs of himself and the Princess. We\nleft regretfully. As we drove away the royal party were gathered at the\nfront windows of the palace waving their handkerchiefs to us in graceful\nadieus. I remember my little daughter was very much surprised with the\nsimplicity of the whole affair, saying to me as we drove away, \"Why, it\nwas just like visiting Grandpa's home.\"\n\nOn our way to Troendhjem from Copenhagen we stayed over a few days at\nChristiania, where we were the guests of Nansen, the Arctic explorer.\nHis home, which stood out near the water's edge, was like a bungalow\nmade of pine logs. There were no carpets on the floors, which were\ncovered with the skins of animals he had himself killed. Trophies of all\nsorts were in evidence. It was a very memorable afternoon with the\nsimple, brave, scientific Nansen.\n\nAt Troendhjem we took the steamer \"Koeng Harald\" for the North Cape. A\nparty of American friends had just returned from there with the most\nlugubrious story about the bad weather and their utter failure to see\nthe sun. As it was pouring rain when we started, it would not have taken\nmuch persuasion to induce us to give it all up. But we had started with\na purpose, and silently but firmly we went on with it. Dr. Talmage never\nturned back at any cross road in his whole life. In a few hours after\nleaving Troendhjem we were in the raw, cold Arctic temperature where a\nnew order of existence begins.\n\nWe lose all sense of ordinary time, for our watches indicate midnight,\nand there is no darkness. The over-hanging clouds draw slowly apart, and\nthe most brilliant, dazzling midnight sun covers the waters and sets the\nsky on fire. It neither rises from the horizon or sinks into it. It\nstays perfectly, immovably still. After a while it rises very slowly.\nThe meals on board are as irregular as the time; they are served\naccording to the adaptability of one's appetite to the strangeness of\nthe new element of constant daytime. We scarcely want to sleep, or know\nwhen to do so. Fortunately our furs are handy, for there is snow and ice\non the wild, barren rocks on either side of us.\n\nOn July 1, at 8 p.m., we sighted this northernmost land, the Cape, and\nwere immediately induced to indulge in cod fishing from the decks of our\nsteamer. It is the custom, and the cod seem to accept the situation with\nperverse indiscretion, for many of them are caught. Our lines and bait\nare provided by sailors. Dinner is again delayed to enable us to indulge\nin this sport, but we don't mind because we have lost all the habitual\ntendencies of our previous normal state.\n\nAt 10 p.m., in a bright daylight, the small boats full of passengers\nbegin to leave the steamer for the shore. In about fifteen minutes we\nare landed at the base of that towering Cape. There are some who doubt\nthe wisdom of Dr. Talmage's attempting to climb at his age. He has no\ndoubts, however, and no one expresses them to him. He is among the first\nto take the staff, handed to him as to all of us, and starts up at his\nusual brisk, striding gait. It is a test of lungs and heart, of skill\nand nerve to climb the North Cape, and let no one attempt it who is\nunfitted for the task. Steep almost as the side of a house, rocky as an\nunused pathway, it is a feat to accomplish. We were the first party of\nthe season to go up, and the paths had not been entirely cleared of\nsnow, which was two and three feet deep in places, the path itself\nsometimes a narrow ledge over a precipice. A rope guard was the only\nbarrier between us and a slippery catastrophe. Every ten or fifteen\nminutes we sat down to get our breath. It took us two hours to reach the\ntop. It was a few minutes after midnight when the sun came out\ngloriously.\n\nComing down was much more perilous, but we got back in safety to the\n\"Koeng Harald\" at 2 a.m. On our way down to Troendhjem we celebrated the\nFourth of July on board. The captain decorated the ship for the occasion\nand we all tried to sing \"The Star Spangled Banner,\" but we could not\nremember the words, much to our mutual surprise and finally we\ncompromised by singing \"America,\" and, worst of all, \"Yankee Doodle.\"\nDr. Talmage made a very happy address, and we came into port finally,\npledged to learn the words of \"The Star Spangled Banner\" before the year\nwas up.\n\nIn our haste to reach the North Cape we had passed hurriedly through\nSweden, so, on our return we went from Troendhjem to Stockholm, where we\narrived on July 7, 1900.\n\nWhen in London Dr. Talmage had accepted an invitation to preach in the\nlargest church in Sweden, with some misgiving, because, as he himself\nsaid when asked to do this, \"Shall I have an audience?\" Of course the\nDoctor did not speak the Swedish language. Dr. Talmage had been told in\nEngland that his name was known through all Sweden, which was a fact\nfully sustained by a publisher in Stockholm who came to the hotel one\nafternoon and brought copies of ten of the Doctor's books translated\ninto Swedish. This insured a cordial greeting for the Doctor, but how\nwas he to make himself understood?\n\nThe Immanuel Church in Stockholm, one of the largest I ever saw, with\ntwo galleries and three aisles, was filled to its capacity. Dr. Talmage\nwas to preach through an interpreter, himself a foremost preacher in his\nown country. The Doctor had preached through interpreters three times in\nhis life; once when a theological student addressing a congregation of\nAmerican Indians, once in a church in Hawaii, and once in Ceylon through\nan interpreter standing on each side of him, one to translate into\nCingalese, and the other to translate into Hindustan. No one who was\npresent at that morning Sabbath service on July 8, 1900, will forget\nthe strange impressions that translated sermon preached by Dr. Talmage\nmade upon everyone. Sentence by sentence the brilliant interpreter\nrepeated the Doctor's words in the Swedish language, while the\ncongregation in eager silence studied Dr. Talmage's face while listening\nto the translation of his ideas.\n\n\"Whether I did them any good or not they did me good,\" said the Doctor\nafter the service.\n\nWhile in Stockholm we dined with Mr. Wyndham, Secretary of the American\nLegation, and were shown through the private rooms of the royal palace,\nof which my daughter took snapshots with surreptitious skill. The Queen\nwas a great invalid and scarcely ever saw anyone, but while driving to\nher summer palace we caught a glimpse of her being lifted from her\nlittle horse, on which she had been riding, seated in a sort of armchair\nsaddle. With a groom to lead the horse Her Majesty took the air every\nday in this way. She was a very frail little woman.\n\nFrom Stockholm we started by steamer for St. Petersburg, but the crowd\nwas so great that we found our staterooms impossible, and we disembarked\nat Alba, the first capital in Finland. We were curious to see the new\ncapital, Helsingfors, and stopped over a day or two there. From\nHelsingfors we went by rail to the Russian capital.\n\nDr. Talmage had been in Russia years before, on the occasion of his\npresentation of a shipload of flour from the American people to the\nfamine sufferers. At that time he had been presented to Emperor\nAlexander III., as well as the Dowager Empress. It was his intention to\npay his respects again to the new Emperor, whose father he had known, so\nthat we looked forward to our stay in St. Petersburg as eventful. The\nCrown Prince of Denmark had urged the Doctor to see his brother-in-law,\nthe Czar, while in St. Petersburg, and we learned later that he had\nwritten a letter to the Court concerning our coming to St. Petersburg.\n\nOn July 23, 1900, we received the following note from Dr. Pierce, the\nAmerican Charge d'Affaires in St. Petersburg:--\n\n    \"July 23, 1900.\n    \"Embassy of the United States, St. Petersburg.\n\n    \"Dear Dr. Talmage--\n\n    \"I take much pleasure in informing you that you and Mrs. Talmage and\n    your daughters will be received by Their Majesties the Emperor and\n    Empress on Wednesday next, at 21/2 p.m.\n\n    \"Yours very sincerely,\n    \"HERBERT H.D. PIERCE.\n\n    \"P.S.--I will let you know the details later.\"\n\nMr. Pierce called in full court dress and informed Dr. Talmage that it\nwould be necessary for him to appear in like regalia. As the Doctor was\nnot accustomed to wearing swords, or cocked hats, or brass buttons on\nhis coat, he received these instructions with some distress of mind.\nLater, we received from the Grand Master of Ceremonies of the Russian\nCourt a formal invitation to be presented at Peterhof, the summer\npalace.\n\nOn Wednesday, July 25, 1900, I find this irreverent entry in my American\ngirl's diary:--\n\n\"I can't think of any words sufficiently high sounding with which to\nbegin the report of this day, so shall simply write about breakfast\nfirst, and gradually lead up to the great event. In spite of the coming\nhonour and the present excitement we all ate a hearty breakfast.\"\n\n\"As our train was to leave for Peterhof about noon we spent the morning\ndressing.\n\n\"After all,\" writes my irreverent daughter in her diary, \"dressing for\nroyalty is not more important than dressing for a dance or dinner. It\ncan't last for much over an hour. When we had everything on we sat\nopposite each other as stiff as pokers--waiting.\"\n\nMy daughter took a snapshot picture of us while waiting. Mrs. Pierce had\nkindly given us some instructions about curtseying and backing away from\nroyalty, a ceremony which neither the Czar nor the Czarina imposed upon\nus, however. The trip to Peterhof was made on one of the Imperial cars.\nThe distance by rail from St. Petersburg was only half-an-hour. A\ngentleman from the American Embassy rode with us. We were met at the\nstation by footmen in royal livery and conducted to a carriage with the\nImperial coat-of-arms upon it. Sentinels in grey coats saluted us.\n\nWe were driven first to the Palace of Peterhof, where more footmen in\ngold lace, and two other officials in gorgeous uniform, conducted us\ninside, through a corridor, past a row of bowing servants, into a\ndining-room where the table was set for luncheon, with gold and silver\nplates, cut glass and rare china. A more exquisite table setting I never\nsaw. Three dressing-rooms opened off this big room, and these we\npromptly appropriated.\n\nThe luncheon was perfect, though we would have enjoyed it better after\nthe strain of our presentation had been over. The four different kinds\nof wine were not very liberally patronised by any of our party. After\nluncheon we were driven through the royal park which was literally\nfilled with mounted Cossacks on guard everywhere, to the abode of the\nEmperor. Through another double line of liveried servants we were\nushered into a small room where the Master of Ceremonies and a\nlady-in-waiting greeted us. We waited about five minutes when an officer\ncame to the Doctor and took him to see the Emperor. A little later we\nwere ushered into another room into the presence of the Empress of\nRussia. She came forward very graciously with outstretched hands to meet\nus. The Czarina is the most beautiful woman I ever saw, aristocratic,\nsimple, extremely sensitive. She was dressed in a black silk gown with\nwhite polka dots. Slightly taller than the Czar, the Empress was most\naffable, girlish in her manner. As she talked the colour came and went\non her pale, fair cheeks, and she gave me the impression of being a very\nsensitive, reserved, exquisitely rare nature. Her smile had a charming\nyet half melancholy radiance. We all sat down and talked. I remember the\nlittle shiver with which the Empress spoke of a race in the Orient whom\nshe disliked.\n\n\"They would stab you in the back,\" she said, her voice fading almost to\na whisper. She looked to be about twenty-eight years old. Once when we\nthought it was time to go, and had started to make our adieus, the\nCzarina kept on talking, urging us to stay. She talked of America\nchiefly, and told us how enthusiastic her cousin was who had just\nreturned from there. When, finally, we did leave we were spared the\ndreaded ceremony of backing out of the room, for the Empress walked with\nus to the door, and shook hands in true democratic American fashion.\n\nDr. Talmage's interview with the Czar was quite as cordial. The Emperor\nexpressed his faith in the results of the Peace movement at the Hague,\nfor he was himself at peace with all the world. During the interview the\nDoctor was asked many questions by the Emperor about the heroes of the\nSpanish war, especially concerning Admiral Dewey. His Majesty laughed\nheartily at the Doctor's story of a battle in which the only loss of\nlife was a mule.\n\n\"How many important things have happened since we met,\" the Czar said to\nthe Doctor; \"I was twenty-four when you were here before, now I am\nthirty-two. My father is gone. My mother has passed through three great\nsorrows since you were here--the loss of my father, of my brother, and\nduring this last year of her own mother, the Queen of Denmark. She\nwishes to see you in her own palace.\"\n\nThe Czar is about five feet ten in height, is very fair, with blue eyes,\nand seemed full of kindness and good cheer.\n\nAs we were leaving, word came from the Dowager Empress that she would\nsee us, and we drove a mile or two further through the royal park to her\npalace. She greeted Dr. Talmage with both hands outstretched, like an\nold friend. Though much smaller in stature than the Empress of Russia,\nthe Dowager Empress was quite as impressive and stately. She was dressed\nin mourning. Her room was like a corner in Paradise set apart from the\ngrim arrogance of Imperial Russia. It was filled with exquisite\npaintings, sweet with a profusion of flowers and plants. She seemed\ngenuinely happy to see the Doctor, and her eyes filled with tears when\nhe spoke of the late Emperor, her husband. At her neck she was wearing a\nminiature portrait of him set in diamonds. Very simply she took it off\nto show to us, saying, \"This is the best picture ever taken of my\nhusband. It is such a pleasure to see you, Dr. Talmage, I heard of your\nbeing in Europe from my brother in Denmark.\"\n\nThe Dowager Empress was full of remembrances of the Doctor's previous\nvisit to Russia, eight years before.\n\n\"How did you like the tea service which my husband sent you?\" she asked\nDr. Talmage; \"I selected it myself. It is exactly like a set we use\nourselves.\"\n\nThe informal charm of the Empress's manner was most friendly and kind.\n\n\"Do you remember the handful of flowers I picked for you, and asked you\nto send them to your family?\" she said.\n\n\"You stood here, my husband there, and I with my smaller children stood\nhere. How well I remember that day; but, oh, what changes!\"\n\nThe Dowager Empress invited us to come to her palace next day and meet\nthe Queen of Greece, her niece by marriage, and her sister-in-law who\nwas visiting Russia just then, but we were obliged to decline because of\nprevious plans. Very graciously she wrote her autograph for us and\npromised to send me her photograph, which later on I received. We were\ndriven back to the station in the Imperial carriage, where a\nrepresentative of the American Embassy met us and rode back to St.\nPetersburg with us.\n\nSo ended a day of absorbing interest such as I shall never experience\nagain. There is a touch of humour always to the most important events in\nlife. I shall never forget Dr. Talmage's real distress when he found\nthat the sword which he had borrowed from Mr. Pierce, the Charge\nd'Affaires of the American Embassy, had become slightly bent in the\ncourse of its royal adventure. I can see his look of anxiety as he tried\nto straighten it out, and was afraid he couldn't. He always abhorred\nborrowed things and hardly ever took them. Fortunately, the sword was\nnot seriously damaged.\n\nOur objective point after leaving Russia was Ober-Ammergau, where Dr.\nTalmage wanted to witness the Passion Play. We travelled in that\ndirection by easy stages, going from St. Petersburg first to Moscow,\nwhere we paid a visit to Tolstoi's house. From Moscow we went to Warsaw,\nand thence to Berlin. The Doctor seemed to have abandoned himself\ncompletely to the lure of sightseeing by this time. Churches, picture\ngalleries, museums were our daily diet. While in Berlin we returned from\na drive one day to the hotel and found ourselves the objects of unusual\nsolicitude and attention from the hotel proprietor and his servants.\nWith many obsequious bows we were informed that the Russian Ambassador\nhad called upon us in our absence, and had informed the hotel people\nthat he had a special package from the Czar to deliver to me. He left\nword that he would be at the hotel at 2 p.m. the following day to carry\nout his Imperial Master's instructions. At the time appointed the next\nday the Russian Ambassador called and formally presented to me, in the\nname of the Emperor, a package that had been sent by special messenger.\nI immediately opened it and found a handsome Russian leather case. I\nopened that, and inside found the autographs of the Emperor and Empress\nof Russia, written on separate sheets of their royal note paper.\n\nWe had a very good time in Berlin. The presence of Sousa and his band\nthere gave it an American flavour that was very delightful. The Doctor's\ninterest was really centred in visiting the little town of Wuerttemberg,\nfamous for its Luther history. Dr. Dickey, Pastor of the American\nChurch in Berlin, became our guide on the day we visited the haunts of\nLuther. One day we went through the Kaiser's Palace at Potsdam, where my\ndaughter managed to use her kodak with good effect.\n\nFrom Berlin we went to Vienna, and thence to Munich, arriving at the\nlittle village of Ober-Ammergau on August 25, 1900.\n\nDr. Talmage's impressions of the Passion Play, which he wrote at\nOber-Ammergau on this occasion, were never published in this country,\nand I herewith include them in these last milestones of his life.\n\n\nTHE PASSION PLAY AT OBER-AMMERGAU\n\n_By Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage, D.D._\n\nAbout fifteen years ago the good people of America were shocked at the\nproposition to put on the theatrical stage of New York the Passion Play,\nor a dramatic representation of the sufferings of Christ. It was to be\nan imitation of that which had been every ten years, since 1634, enacted\nin Ober-Ammergau, Germany. Every religious newspaper and most of the\nsecular journals, and all the pulpits, denounced the proposition. It\nwould be an outrage, a sacrilege, a blasphemy. I thought so then; I\nthink so now. The attempt of ordinary play actors amid worldly\nsurroundings, and before gay assemblages, to portray the sufferings of\nChrist and His assassination would have been a horrible indecency that\nwould have defied the heavens and invoked a plague worse than that for\nthe turning back of which the Passion Play at Ober-Ammergau was\nestablished. We might have suggested for such a scene a Judas, or a\nCaiaphas, or a Pilate, or a Herod. But who would have been the Christ?\n\nThe Continental protest which did not allow the curtain of that\nexhibition to be hoisted was right, and if a similar attempt should ever\nbe made in America I hope it may be as vehemently defeated. But as\ncertain individuals may have an especial mission which other individuals\nare not caused to exercise, so neighbourhoods and provinces and\ncountries may have a call peculiar to themselves.\n\nWhether the German village of Ober-Ammergau which I have just been\nvisiting, may have such an especial ordination, I leave others to judge\nafter they have taken into consideration all the circumstances. The\nPassion Play, as it was proposed for the theatrical stage in New York,\nwould have been as different from the Passion Play as we saw it at\nOber-Ammergau a few days ago as midnight is different from mid-noon.\n\nOber-Ammergau is a picture-frame of hills.\n\nThe mountains look down upon the village, and the village looks up to\nthe mountains. The river Ammer, running through the village, has not\nrecovered from its race down the steeps, and has not been able to\nmoderate its pace. Like an arrow, it shoots past. Through exaltations\nand depressions of the rail train, and on ascending and descending\ngrades, we arrived at the place of which we had heard and read so much.\nThe morning was as glorious as any other morning that was let down out\nof the heavens. Though many thousands of people from many quarters of\nthe earth had lodged that night in Ober-Ammergau, the place at dawn was\nas silent as a hunter's cabin in any of the mountains of Bavaria. The\nAmmergauers are a quiet people. They speak in low tones, and are\nthemselves masters of the art of silence. Their step, as well as their\nvoice, is quiet. Reverence and courtesy are among their\ncharacteristics. Though merry enough, and far from being dolorous, I\nthink the most of them feel themselves called to a solemn duty, that in\nsome later time they will be called to take part in absorbing\nsolemnities, for about 700 performers appear in the wonderful\nperformance; there are only about 1,400 inhabitants.\n\nWhile the morning is still morning, soon after 7 o'clock, hundreds and\nthousands of people, nearly all on foot, are moving in one direction, so\nthat you do not have to ask for the place of mighty convocation. Through\nfourteen large double doors the audience enter. Everything in the\nimmense building is so plain that nothing could be plainer, and the\nseats are cushionless, a fact which becomes thoroughly pronounced after\nyou have for eight hours, with only brief intermissions, been seated on\nthem.\n\nAll is expectancy!\n\nThe signal gun outside the building sounds startlingly. We are not about\nto witness an experiment, but to look upon something which has been in\npreparation and gathering force for two hundred and sixty-six years. It\nwas put upon the stage not for financial gain but as a prayer to God for\nthe removal of a Destroying Angel which had with his wings swept to\ndeath other villages, and was then destroying Ober-Ammergau. It was a\ndying convulsion in which Widowhood and Orphanage and Childlessness\nvowed that if the Lord should drive back that Angel of Death, then every\nten years they would in the most realistic and overwhelming manner show\nthe world what Christ had done to save it.\n\nThey would reproduce His groan. They would show the blood-tipped spear.\nThey would depict the demoniac grin of ecclesiastics who gladly heard\nperjurers testify against the best Friend the world ever had, but who\ndeclined to hear anything in His defence. They would reproduce the\nspectacle of silence amid wrong; a silence with not a word of protest,\nor vindication, or beseechment; a silence that was louder than the\nthunder that broke from the heavens that day when at 12 o'clock at noon\nwas as dark as 12 o'clock at night.\n\nPoets have been busy for many years putting the Passion Play into\nrhythm. The Bavarian Government had omitted from it everything\nfrivolous. The chorus would be that of drilled choirs. Men and women who\nhad never been out of the sight of the mountains which guarded their\nhomes would do with religious themes what the David Garricks and the\nMacreadys and the Ristoris and the Charlotte Cushmans did with secular\nthemes. On a stage as unpretentious as foot ever trod there would be an\nimpersonation that would move the world. The greatest tragedy of all\ntimes would find fit tragedian. We were not there that August morning to\nsee an extemporised performance. As long ago as last December the\nprogramme for this stupendous rendering was all made out. No man or\nwoman who had the least thing objectionable in character or reputation\nmight take part.\n\nThe Passion Council, made up of the pastor of the village church and six\ndevout members, together with the Mayor and ten councillors selected for\ntheir moral worth, assembled. After special Divine service, in which\nheaven's direction was sought, the vote was taken, and the following\npersons were appointed to appear in the more important parts of the\nPassion Play: Rochus Lang, _Herod_; John Zwink, _Judas_; Andreas Braun,\n_Joseph of Arimathea_; Bertha Wolf, _Magdalen_; Sebastian Baur,\n_Pilate_; Peter Rendi, _John_; William Rutz, _Nicodemus_; Thomas Rendi,\n_Peter_; Anna Flunger, _Mary_; Anton Lang, _Christ_.\n\nThe music began its triumphant roll, and the curtains were divided and\npulled back to the sides of the stage. Lest we repeat the only error in\nthe sacred drama, that of prolixity, we will not give in minutiae what we\nsaw and heard. The full text of the play is translated and published by\nmy friend, the Reverend Doctor Dickey, pastor of the American Church of\nBerlin, and takes up 169 pages, mostly in fine print.\n\nI only describe what most impressed me.\n\nThere is a throng of people of all classes in the streets of Jerusalem,\nby look and gesture indicating that something wonderful is advancing.\nAcclamations fill the air. The crowd parts enough to allow Christ to\npass, seated on the side of a colt, which was led by the John whom Jesus\nespecially loved. The Saviour's hands are spread above the throng in\nbenediction, while He looks upon them with a kindness and sympathy that\nwin the love of the excited multitude. Arriving at the door of the\nTemple, Jesus dismounts and, walking over the palm branches and garments\nwhich are strewn and unrolled in His way, He enters the Temple, and\nfinds that parts of that sacred structure are turned into a marketplace,\nwith cages of birds and small droves of lambs and heifers which the\ndealers would sell to those who wanted to make a \"live offering\" in the\nTemple. Indignation gathers on the countenance of Christ where\ngentleness had reigned. He denounces these merchants, who stood there\nover-reaching in their bargains and exorbitantly outrageous in their\ncharges. The doors of the cages holding the pigeons are opened, and in\ntheir escape they fly over the stage and over the audience. The table\non which the exchangers had been gathering unreasonable percentage was\nthrown down, and the coin rattled over the floor, and the place was\ncleared of the dishonest invaders, who go forth to plot the ruin and the\ndeath of Him who had so suddenly expelled them.\n\nThe most impressive character in all the sacred drama is Christ.\n\nThe impersonator, Anton Lang, seems by nature far better fitted for this\npart than was his predecessor, Josef Mayr, who took that part in 1870,\n1880, and 1890. Mayr is very tall, brawny, athletic. His hair was black\nin those days, and his countenance now is severe. He must have done it\nwell, but I can hardly imagine him impersonating gentleness and complete\nsubmission to abuse. But Anton Lang, with his blonde complexion, his\nlight hair, blue eyes and delicate mouth, his exquisiteness of form and\nquietness of manner, is just like what Raphael and many of the old\nmasters present. When we talked with Anton Lang in private he looked\nexactly as he looked in the Passion Play. This is his first year in the\nChrist character, and his success is beyond criticism. In his trade as a\ncarver of wood he has so much to do in imitating the human countenance\nthat he understands the full power of expression. The way he listens to\nthe unjust charges in the court room, his bearing when the ruffians bind\nhim, and his manner when, by a hand, thick-gloved so as not to get hurt,\na crown of thorns was put upon his brow, and the officers with long\nbands of wood press it down upon the head of the sufferer, all show that\nhe has a talent to depict infinite agony.\n\nNo more powerful acting was ever seen on the stage than that of John\nZwink, the Judas. In repose there is no honester face in Ober-Ammergau\nthan his. Twenty years ago he appeared in the Passion Play as St. John;\none would suppose that he would do best in a representation of geniality\nand mildness. But in the character of Judas he represents, in every\nwrinkle of his face, and in every curl of his hair, and in every glare\nof his eye, and in every knuckle of his hand with which he clutches the\nmoney bag, hypocrisy and avarice and hate and low strategy and\ndiabolism. The quickness with which he grabs the bribe for the betrayal\nof the Lord, the villainous leer at the Master while seated at the holy\nsupper, show him to be capable of any wickedness. What a spectacle when\nthe traitorous lips are pressed against the pure cheek of the Immaculate\nOne, the disgusting smack desecrating the holy symbol of love.\n\nBut after Judas has done his deadly work then there comes upon him a\nremorse and terror such as you have never seen depicted unless you have\nwitnessed the Passion Play at the foot of the Bavarian mountains. His\nstart at imaginary sounds, his alarm at a creaking door, his fear at\nnothing, the grinding teeth and the clenched fist indicative of mental\ntorture, the dishevelled hair, the beating of his breast with his hands,\nthe foaming mouth, the implication, the shriek, the madness, the flying\nhere and there in the one attempt to get rid of himself, the horror\nincreased at his every appearance, whether in company or alone, regarded\nin contrast with the dagger scene of \"Macbeth\" makes the latter mere\nchild's play. That day, John Zwink, in the character of Judas, preached\nfifty sermons on the ghastliness of betrayal. The fire-smart of\nill-gotten gain, the iron-beaked vulture of an aroused conscience; all\nthe bloodhounds of despair seemed tearing him. Then, when he can endure\nthe anguish no longer, he loosens the long girdle from his waist and\naddresses that girdle as a snake, crying out:--\n\n\"Ha! Come, thou serpent, entwine my neck and strangle the betrayer,\" and\nhastily ties it about his neck and tightens it, then rushes up to the\nbranch of a tree for suicide, and the curtain closes before the 4,000\nbreathless auditors.\n\nDo I approve of the Passion Play at Ober-Ammergau?\n\nMy only answer is that I was never so impressed in all my life with the\ngreatness of the price that was paid for the redemption of the human\nrace. The suffering depicted was so awful that I cannot now understand\nhow I could have endured looking upon its portrayal. It is amazing that\nthousands in the audience did not faint into a swoon as complete as that\nof the soldiers who fell on the stage at the Lord's reanimation from\nJoseph's mausoleum.\n\nImagine what it would be to see a soldier seemingly thrust a spear into\nthe Saviour's side, and to see the crimson rush from the laceration.\n\nWould I see it acted again? No. I would not risk my nerves again under\nthe strain of such a horror. One dreams of it nights after.\n\nWhen Christ carrying His cross falls under it, and you see Him on His\nhands and knees, His forehead ensanguined with the twisted brambles, and\nVeronica comes to Him offering a handkerchief to wipe away the tears,\nand sweat and blood, your own forehead becomes beaded with perspiration.\nAs the tragedy moves on, solemnity is added to solemnity. Not so much as\na smile in the eight hours, except the slight snicker of some fool, such\nas is sure to be found in all audiences, when the cock crew twice after\nPeter had denied him thrice.\n\nWhat may seem strange to some, I was as much impressed with Christ's\nmental agony as with his physical pangs. Oh! what a scene when in\nGethsemane He groaned over the sins of the world for which He was making\nexpiation, until the angelic throngs of heaven were so stirred by His\nimpassioned utterance that one of their white-winged number came out and\ndown to comfort the Angel of the New Covenant!\n\nSome of the tableaux or living pictures between the acts of this drama\nwere graphic and thrilling, such as Adam and Eve expelled from\narborescence into homelessness; Joseph, because of his picturesque\nattire sold into serfdom, from which he mounts to the Prime Minister's\nchair; the palace gates shut against Queen Vashti because she declines\nto be immodest; manna snowing down into the hands of the hungry\nIsraelites; grapes of Eshcol so enormous that one cluster is carried by\ntwo men on a staff between them; Naboth stoned to death because Ahab\nwants his vineyard; blind Samson between the pillars of the Temple of\nDagon, making very destructive sport for his enemies. These tableaux are\nchiefly intended as a breathing spell between the acts of the drama. The\nmusic rendered requires seven basses and seven tenors, ten sopranos and\nten contraltos. Edward Lang has worked thirty years educating the\nmusical talent of the village. The Passion Play itself is beyond\ncriticism, though it would have been mightier if two hours less in its\nperformance. The subtraction would be an addition.\n\nThe drama progresses from the entering into Jerusalem to the\ncondemnation by the Sanhedrim, showing all the world that crime may be\ncommitted according to law as certainly as crime against the law.\n\nOh, the hard-visaged tribunal; countenances as hard as the spears, as\nhard as the spikes, as hard as the rocks under which the Master was\nburied! Who can hear the metallic voice of that Caiaphas without\nthinking of some church court that condemned a man better than\nthemselves? Caiaphas is as hateful as Judas. Blessed is that\ndenomination of religionists which has not more than one Caiaphas!\n\nOn goes the scene till we reach the goodby of Mary and Christ at\nBethany. Who will ever forget that woman's cry, or the face from which\nsuffering has dried the last tear? Who would have thought that Anna\nFlunger, the maiden of twenty-five years, could have transformed her\nfair and happy face into such concentration of gloom and grief and woe?\nMary must have known that the goodbye at Bethany was final, and that the\nembrace of that Mother and Son was their last earthly embrace. It was\nthe saddest parting since the earth was made, never to be equalled while\nthe earth stands.\n\nWhat groups of sympathetic women trying to comfort her, as only women\ncan comfort!\n\nOn goes the sacred drama till we come to the foot-washing. A few days\nbefore, while we were in Vienna, we had explained to us the annual\nceremony of foot washing by the Emperor of Austria. It always takes\nplace at the close of Lent. Twelve very old people are selected from the\npoorest of the poor. They are brought to the palace. At the last\nfoot-washing the youngest of the twelve was 86 years of age, and the\noldest 92. The Imperial family and all those in high places gather for\nthis ceremony. An officer precedes the Emperor with a basin of water.\nFor many days the old people have been preparing for the scene. The\nEmperor goes down on one knee before each one of these venerable people,\nputs water on the arch of the foot and then wipes it with a towel. When\nthis is done a rich provision of food and drink is put before each one\nof the old people, but immediately removed before anything is tasted.\nThen the food and the cups and the knives and the forks are put in\ntwelve sacks and each one has his portion allotted him. The old people\ncome to the foot-washing in the Emperor's carriage and return in the\nsame way, and they never forget the honour and splendour of that\noccasion.\n\nOh, the contrast between that foot-washing amid pomp and brilliant\nceremony and the imitated foot-washing of our Lord at Ober-Ammergau.\nBefore each one of the twelve Apostles Christ comes down so slowly that\na sigh of emotion passes through the great throng of spectators. Christ\neven washes the feet of Judas. Was there in all time or eternity past,\nor will there be in all time or eternity to come, such a scene of\nself-abnegation? The Lord of heaven and earth stooping to such a service\nwhich must have astounded the heavens more than its dramatisation\noverpowered us! What a stunning rebuke to the pride and arrogance and\npersonal ambition of all ages!\n\nThe Hand of God on Human Foot in Ablution!\n\nNo wonder the quick-tempered Peter thought it incongruous, and forbade\nits taking place, crying out: \"Thou shalt never wash my feet!\" But the\nLord broke him down until Peter vehemently asked that his head and his\nhands be washed as well as his feet.\n\nDuring eight hours on that stage it seems as though we were watching a\nbattle between the demons of the Pit and the seraphs of Light, and the\ndemons triumph. Eight hours telling a sadness, with every moment worse\nthan its predecessor. All the world against Him, and hardly any let up\nso that we feel like leaving our place and rushing for the stage and\ngiving congratulations with both hands to Simon of Cyrene as he lightens\nthe Cross from the shoulder of the sufferer, and to Nicodemus who voted\nan emphatic \"No\" at the condemnation, and to Joseph of Arimathea who\nasks the honour of being undertaker at the obsequies.\n\nScene after scene, act after act, until at the scourging every stroke\nfetches the blood; and the purple mantle is put upon Him in derision,\nand they slap His face and they push Him off the stool upon which He\nsits, laughing at His fall. On, until from behind the curtain you hear\nthe thumping of the hammers on the spikes; on, until hanging between two\nbandits, He pledges Paradise within twenty-four hours to the one, and\ncommits His own broken-hearted mother to John, asking him to take care\nof her in her old age; and His complaint of thirst brings a sponge\nmoistened with sour wine on the end of a staff; and blasphemy has hurled\nat Him its last curse, and malice has uttered concerning Him its last\nlie, and contempt has spit upon Him its last foam, and the resources of\nperdition are exhausted, and from the shuddering form and white lips\ncomes the exclamation, \"It is finished!\"\n\nAt that moment there resounded across the river Ammer and through the\nvillage of Ober-Ammergau a crash that was responded to by the echoes of\nthe Bavarian mountains. The rocks tumbled back off the stage, and the\nheavens roared and the graves of the dead were wrecked, and it seemed as\nif the earth itself had foundered in its voyage through the sky. The\ngreat audience almost leaped to its feet at the sound of that tempest\nand earthquake.\n\nLook! the ruffians are tossing dice for the ownership of the Master's\ncoat. The darkness thickens. Night, blackening night. Hark! The wolves\nare howling for the corpse of the slain Lord. Then, with more pathos and\ntenderness than can be seen in Rubens' picture, \"Descent from the\nCross,\" in the cathedral at Antwerp, is the dead Christ lowered, and\nthere rises the wailing of crushed motherhood, and with solemn tread the\nmutilated body is sepulchred. But soon the door of the mausoleum falls\nand forth comes the Christ and, standing on the shoulder of Mount\nOlivet, He is ready for ascension. Then the \"Hallelujah Chorus\" from the\n700 voices before and behind the scenes closes the most wonderful\ntragedy ever enacted.\n\nAs we rose for departure we felt like saying with the blind preacher,\nwhom William Wirt, the orator of Virginia, heard concluding his sermon\nto a backwoods congregation:\n\n\"Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus died like a God!\"\n\nI have been asked whether this play would ever be successfully\nintroduced into America or England. I think there is some danger that it\nmay be secularised and turned into a mercenary institution. Instead of\nthe long ride by carriages over rough mountain roads for days and days,\nas formerly was necessary in order to reach Ober-Ammergau, there are now\ntwo trains a day which land tourists for the Passion Play, and among\nthem may appear some American theatrical manager who, finding that John\nZwink of Ober-Ammergau impersonates the spirit of grab and cheat and\ninsincerity better than any one who treads the American stage, and only\nreceived for his wonderful histrionic ability what equals forty-five\npounds sterling for ten years, may offer him five times as much\ncompensation for one night. If avarice could clutch Judas with such a\nrelentless grasp at the offer of thirty pieces of silver, what might be\nthe proportionate temptation of a thousand pieces of gold!\n\nThe impression made upon Dr. Talmage by the Passion Play was stirring\nand reverent. He described it as one of the most tremendous and fearful\nexperiences of his life.\n\n\"I have seen it once, but I would not see it again,\" he said, \"I would\nnot dare risk my nerves to such an awful, harrowing ordeal. Accustomed\nas I am to think almost constantly on all that the Bible means, the\nPassion Play was an unfolding, a new and thrilling interpretation, a\nrevelation. I never before realised the capabilities of the Bible for\ndramatic representation.\"\n\nWe went from Ober-Ammergau to that modern Eden for the overwrought\nnerves of kings and commoners--Baden-baden, where we spent ten days. At\nthe end of this time we returned to Paris to enjoy the Exposition at our\nleisure. Paris is always a place of brightness and pleasure. King\nLeopold of Belgium was among the distinguished guests of the French\ncapital, whom we saw one day while driving in the Bois. We made visits\nto Versailles and the palace of Fontainebleau. The Doctor enjoyed these\ntrips into the country, and always manged to make his arrangements so\nthat he could go with us. From Paris we went to London for a farewell\nvisit. Dr. Talmage had promised to preach in John Wesley's chapel in the\nCity Road, known as \"The Cathedral of Methodism.\"\n\nOn Sunday, September 30, 1900, the crowd was so great that had come to\nhear Dr. Talmage that a cordon of police was necessary to guard the big\niron gates after the church was filled. The text of his sermon that day\nwas significant. It may have been a conception of his own life work--its\ntext. It was taken from a passage in the eleventh chapter of Daniel:--\n\n\"The people that do know their God shall be strong and do exploits.\"\n\nIt is difficult to conceive of the enthusiasm that Dr. Talmage aroused\neverywhere the immense crowds that gathered to see and hear him. During\nour stay in London this time, after a preaching service in a church in\nPiccadilly, the wheels of our carriage were seized and we were like a\nsmall island in a black sea of restless men and women. The driver\ncouldn't move. The Doctor took it with great delight and stood up in the\ncarriage, making an address. From where he was standing he could not see\nthe police charging the crowd to scatter them. When he did, he realised\nthat he was aiding in obstructing the best regulated thoroughfare in\nLondon. Stopping his address, he said, \"We must recognise the authority\nof the law,\" and sat down. It was said that Dr. Talmage was the only man\nwho had ever stopped the traffic in Piccadilly.\n\nFrom London Dr. Talmage and I went together for a short visit to the\nIsle of Wight, and later to Swansea where he preached; we left the girls\nwith Lady Lyle, at Sir John Lyle's house in London.\n\nIt had become customary whenever the Doctor made an address to ask me to\nsit on the platform, and in this way I became equal to looking a big\naudience in the face, but one day the Doctor over-estimated my talents.\nHe came in with more than his usual whir, and said to me:\n\n\"Eleanor, I have been asked if you won't dedicate a new building at the\nWood Green Wesleyan Church in North London. I said I thought you would,\nand accepted for you. Won't you please do this for me?\"\n\nThere was no denying him, and I consented, provided he would help me\nwith the address. He did, and on the appointed day when we drove out to\nthe place I had the notes of my speech held tightly crumpled in my\nglove. There was the usual crowd that had turned out to hear Dr. Talmage\nwho was to preach afterwards, and I was genuinely frightened. I remember\nas we climbed the steps to the speaker's platform, the Doctor whispered\nto me, \"Courage, Eleanor, what other women have done you can do.\" I\nalmost lost my equilibrium when I was presented with a silver trowel as\na souvenir of the event. There was nothing about a silver trowel in my\nnotes. However, the event passed off without any calamity but it was my\nfirst and last appearance in public.\n\nAs the time approached for us to return to America the Doctor looked\nforward to the day of sailing. It had all been a wonderful experience\neven to him who had for so many years been in the glare of public life.\nHe had reached the highest mark of public favour as a man, and as a\npreacher was the most celebrated of his time. I wonder now, as I realise\nthe strain of work he was under, that he gave me so little cause for\nanxiety considering his years. He was a marvel of health and strength.\nThere may have been days when his genius burned more dimly than others,\nand often I would ask him if the zest of his work was as great if he was\na bit tired, hoping that he would yield a little to the trend of the\nyears, but he was as strong and buoyant in his energies as if each day\nwere a new beginning. His enjoyment of life was inspiring, his hold upon\nthe beauty of it never relaxed.\n\nFrom London we went to Belfast, on a very stormy day. Dr. Talmage was\nadvised to wait a while, but he had no fear of anything. That crossing\nof the Irish Channel was the worst sea trip I ever had. We arrived in\nBelfast battered and ill from the stormy passage, all but the Doctor,\nwho went stoically ahead with his engagements with undiminished vigour.\nGoing up in the elevator of the hotel one day, we met Mrs. Langtry. Dr.\nTalmage had crossed the ocean with her.\n\n\"Won't you come and see my play to-night?\" she asked him.\n\n\"I am very sorry, Madame, but I am speaking myself to-night,\" said the\nDoctor courteously. He told me afterwards how fortunate he felt it to be\nthat he was able to make a real excuse. Invitations to the theatre\nalways embarrassed him.\n\nFrom Belfast we went to Cork for a few days, making a trip to the\nKillarney lakes before sailing from Queenstown on October 18, 1900, on\nthe \"Oceanic.\"\n\n\"Isn't it good to be going back to America, back to that beautiful city\nof Washington,\" said the Doctor, the moment we got on board.\n\nWhatever he was doing, whichever way he was going, he was always in\npursuit of the joy of living. Although the greatest year of my life was\ndrawing to a close, it all seemed then like an achievement rather than a\nfarewell, like the beginning of a perfect happiness, the end of which\nwas in remote perspective.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAST MILESTONE\n\n1900-1902\n\n\nThere was no warning of the divine purpose; there was no pause of\nweakness or illness in his life to foreshadow his approaching end. Until\nthe last sunset hours of his useful days he always seemed to me a man of\niron. He had stood in the midst of crowds a towering figure; but away\nfrom them his life had been a studied annihilation, an existence of\nhidden sacrifice to his great work. He used to say to me: \"Eleanor, I\nhave lived among crowds, and yet I have been much of the time quite\nalone.\" But alone or in company his mind was ever active, his great\nheart ever intent on his apostolate of sunshine and help towards his\nfellow-men. And the good things he said were not alone the utterances of\nhis public career; they came bubbling forth as from a spring during the\ncourse of his daily life, in his home and among his friends, even with\nlittle children. Books have been written styled, \"Conversations of\nEminent Men\"; and I have often thought had his ordinary conversations\nbeen reported, or, better, could the colossal crowds who admired him\nhave been, as we, his privileged listeners, they would have been no less\ncharmed with his brilliant talk than with the public displays of\neloquence with which they were so captivated.\n\nImmediately after his return from Europe in the autumn of 1900, Dr.\nTalmage took up his work with renewed vigour and enthusiasm. He stepped\nback into his study as if a new career of preaching awaited him. Never,\nindeed, had a Sunday passed, since our union, on which he had not given\nhis divine message from the pulpit; never had he missed a full, arduous,\nwearisome day's work in his Master's vineyard. But I think Dr. Talmage\nnow wrote and preached more industriously and vigorously than I had ever\nseen him before. His work had become so important an element in the\ncharacter of American life, and in the estimate of the American\npeople--I might add, in that of many foreign peoples, too--that his\nconsciousness of it seemed to double and treble his powers; he was\ncarried along on a great wave of enthusiasm; and in the joy of it all,\nwe, with the thousands who bowed before his influence, looked naturally\nfor a great many years of a life of such wide-spread usefulness. Over\nhim had come a new magic of autumnal youth and strength that touched the\ninspirations of his mind and increased the optimism of his heart. No one\ncould have suspected that the golden bowl was so soon to be broken; that\nthe pitcher, still so full of the refreshing draughts of wisdom, was\nabout to be crushed at the fountain. But so it was to be.\n\nInvigorated by his delightful foreign trip, Dr. Talmage now resumed his\nlabours with happy heart and effervescing zeal. He used to say: \"I don't\ncare how old a man gets to be, he never ought to be over eighteen years\nof age.\" And he seemed now to be a living realisation of his words. He\nhad given up his regular pastorate at the First Presbyterian Church in\nWashington, that he might devote himself to broader responsibilities,\nwhich seemed to have fallen upon him because of his world-wide\nreputation. I cannot forbear quoting here--as it reveals so much the\ncharacter of the man--a portion of his farewell letter, the mode he took\nof giving his parting salutation:\n\n    \"The world is full of farewells, and one of the hardest words to\n    utter is goodby. What glorious Sabbaths we have had together! What\n    holy communions! What thronged assemblages! Forever and forever we\n    will remember them.... And now in parting I thank you for your\n    kindness to me and mine. I have been permitted, Sabbath by Sabbath,\n    to confront, with the tremendous truths of the Gospel, as genial and\n    lovely, and cultivated and noble people as I ever knew, and it is a\n    sadness to part with them.... May the richest blessing of God abide\n    with you! May your sons and daughters be the sons and daughters of\n    the Lord Almighty! And may we all meet in the heavenly realms to\n    recount the divine mercies which have accompanied us all the way,\n    and to celebrate, world without end, the grace that enabled us to\n    conquer! And now I give you a tender, a hearty, a loving, a\n    Christian goodby.\n\n    \"T. DEWITT TALMAGE.\"\n\nApart from his active literary and editorial work, he was now to devote\nhimself to sermons and lectures which should have for audience the whole\ncountry. As a consequence, on re-entering his study after his long\nabsence, he found accumulated on his desk an immense number of\ninvitations to preach, applications from all parts of the land. He\nsmiled, and expressed more than once his conviction that God's\nProvidence had marked out his way for him, and here was direct proof of\nHis divine call and His fatherly love.\n\nAt a monster meeting in New York this year Dr. Talmage revived national\ninterest in his presence and his Gospel. Ten thousand people crowded to\nthe Academy of Music to hear his words of encouragement and hope. It was\nthe twentieth anniversary of the Bowery Mission, of which Dr. Talmage\nwas one of the founders. \"This century,\" he said in part, \"is to witness\na great revival of religion. Cities are to be redeemed. Official\nauthority can do much, but nothing can take the place of the Gospel of\nGod.... No man goes deliberately into sin; he gets aboard the great\naccommodation train of Temptation, assured that it will stop at the\ndepot of Prudence, or anywhere else he desires, to let him off. The\nconductor cries: 'All aboard' and off he goes. The train goes faster and\nfaster, and presently he wants to get off. 'Stop'! he calls to the\nconductor; but that official cries back: 'This is the fast express and\ndoes not stop until it reaches the Grand Central Station of\nSmashupton.'\" The sinner can be raised up, he insists. \"The Bible says\nGod will forgive 490 times. At your first cry He will bend down from his\nthrone to the depths of your degradation. Put your face to the sunrise.\"\n\nFaith in God was his armour; his shield was hope; his amulet was\ncharity. He harnessed the events of the world to his chariot of\ninspiration, and sped on his way as in earlier years. He had become a\nforemost preacher of the Gospel because he preached under the spell of\nevangelical impulse, under the control of that remarkable faith which\ncomes with the transformation of all converted men or women. The\nstillness of the vast crowds that stood about the church doors when he\naddressed them briefly in the open air after services was a tribute to\nthe spell he cast over them by the miracle of that converting grace. He\nwas quite unconscious of the attention he attracted outside the pulpit,\non the street, in the trains. His celebrity was not the consequence of\nhis endeavours to obtain it, nor was it won, as some declared, by\nstudied dramatic effects; it was the result of his moments of\ninspiration, combined with continual and almost superhuman mental\nlabour--labour that was a fountain of perennial delight to him, but none\nthe less labour.\n\nIf \"Genius is infinite patience,\" as a French writer said, Dr. Talmage\npossessed it in an eminent degree. Every sermon he ever wrote was an\noutput of his full energies, his whole heart and mind; and while\ndictating his sermons in his study, he preached them before an imaginary\naudience, so earnest was his desire to reach the hearts of his hearers\nand produce upon them a lasting influence. His sermons were born not of\nthe crowd, but for the crowd, in deep religious fervour and conviction.\nHis lectures, incisive and far-reaching as they were in their\nconceptions and in their moral and social effects, were not so\nimpressive as his sermons, with their undertone of divine inspiration.\n\nIn accord with an invitation sent to us in Paris, from the Governor of\nPennsylvania, we went to Harrisburg as the guests at the Executive\nMansion, where a dinner and reception were given Dr. Talmage in honour\nof his return from abroad. During this dinner, the Rev. Dr. John Wesley\nHill, then pastor of the church in Harrisburg in which Dr. Talmage\npreached, told us of a rare autograph letter of Lincoln, which he owned.\nIt was his wish that Dr. Talmage should have it in his house, where he\nthought more people would see it. The next day, Dr. Hill sent this\nletter to us:--\n\n    \"GENTLEMEN,--In response to your address, allow me to attest the\n    accuracy of its historical statements; indorse the sentiments it\n    expresses; and thank you, in the nation's name, for the sure promise\n    it gives.\n\n    \"Nobly sustained as the government has been by all the churches, I\n    would utter nothing which might, in the least, appear invidious\n    against any. Yet, without this, it may fairly be said that the\n    Methodist Episcopal Church, not less devoted than the best, is, by\n    its greater numbers, the most important of all. It, is no fault in\n    others that the Methodist Church sends more soldiers to the field,\n    more nurses to the hospitals, and more prayers to Heaven than any.\n    God bless the Methodist Church--bless all the churches--and blessed\n    be God, Who, in this our great trial, giveth us the churches.\n\n    \"A. LINCOLN.\n\n    \"May 18th, 1864.\"\n\n[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S LETTER.]\n\nA great welcome was given Dr. Talmage in Brooklyn, in November, 1900,\nwhen he preached in the Central Presbyterian Church there. It was the\nDoctor's second appearance in a Brooklyn church after the burning of the\nTabernacle in 1894.\n\nIt was urged in the newspapers that he might return to his old home. The\ninvitation was tempting, judging by the thousands who crowded that\nSunday to hear him. In my scrapbook I read of this occasion:\n\n\"Women fainted, children were half-crushed, gowns were torn and strong\nmen grew red in the face as they buffeted the crowds that had gathered\nto greet the Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage at the Central Presbyterian Church\nin Brooklyn.\"\n\nIn the autumn of 1900, an anniversary of East Hampton, N.Y., was held,\nand the Doctor entered energetically and happily into the celebration,\npreaching in the little village church which had echoed to his voice in\nthe early days of his ministry. It was a far call backward over nearly\nfive decades of his teeming life. And he, whose magic style, whether of\nword or pen, had enchanted millions over the broad world--how well he\nremembered the fears and misgivings that had accompanied those first\nefforts, with the warning of his late professors ringing in his ears:\n\"You must change your style, otherwise no pulpit will ever be open to\nyou.\"\n\nNow he could look back over more than a quarter of a century during\nwhich his sermons had been published weekly; through syndicates they had\nbeen given to the world in 3,600 different papers, and reached, it was\nestimated, 30,000,000 people in the United States and other countries.\nThey were translated into most European and even into Asiatic languages.\nHis collected discourses were already printed in twenty volumes, while\nmaterial remained for almost as many more. His style, too, in spite of\nhis \"original eccentricities,\" had attracted hundreds of thousands of\nreaders to his books on miscellaneous subjects--all written with a moral\npurpose. Among a score of them I might mention: From Manger to Throne;\nThe Pathway of Life; Crumbs Swept Up; Every-day Religion; The Marriage\nRing; Woman: her Powers and Privileges.\n\nDr. Talmage edited several papers beginning with _The Christian at\nWork_; afterwards he took charge, successively, of the _Advance, Frank\nLeslie's Sunday Magazine_, and finally _The Christian Herald_, of which\nhe continued to be chief editor till the end of his life. He spoke and\nwrote earnestly of the civilising and educational power of the press,\nand felt that in availing himself of it and thereby furnishing lessons\nof righteousness and good cheer to millions, he was multiplying beyond\nmeasure his short span of life and putting years into hours. He said:\n\"My lecture tours seem but hand-shaking with the vast throngs whom I\nhave been enabled to preach to through the press.\"\n\nHis editorials were often wrought out in the highest style of literary\nart. I am pleased to give the following estimate from an author who knew\nhim well: \"As an editorial writer, Dr. Talmage was versatile and\nprolific, and his weekly contributions on an immense variety of topics\nwould fill many volumes. His writing was as entertaining and pungent as\nhis preaching, and full of brilliant eccentricities--'Talmagisms,' as\nthey were called. He coined new words and invented new phrases. If the\ntopic was to his liking, the pen raced to keep time with the thought....\nStill, with all this haste, nothing could exceed the scrupulous care he\ntook with his finished manuscript. He once wired from Cincinnati to his\npublisher in New York instructions to change a comma in his current\nsermon to a semicolon. He had detected the error while reading proof on\nthe train.\"\n\nDr. Talmage's personal mail was thought to be the largest of any man in\nthe country, outside of some of the public officers. Thousands, men and\nwomen, appealed to him for advice in spiritual things, revealing to him\nintimate family affairs, laying their hearts bare before him as before a\ntrusted physician of the soul. I have seen him moved to the depths of\nhis nature by some of these white missives bearing news of conversion to\nfaith in Christ wrought by his sermons; of families rent asunder united\nthrough his words of love and broadmindedness; of mothers whose broken\nhearts he had healed by leading back the prodigal son; of prisoners\nwhose hope in life and trust in a loving Father had been awakened by a\ncasual reading of some of his comforting paragraphs.\n\nThe life of Dr. Talmage was by no means the luxurious one of the man of\nwealth and ease it was sometimes represented to be. He could not endure\nthat men should have this aspect of him. He was a plain man in his\ntastes and his habits; the impression that he was ambitious for wealth,\nI know, was a false one. I do not believe he ever knew the value of\nmoney. The possession of it gave him little gratification except for its\nuse in helping to carry on the great work he had in hand; and, indeed,\nhe never knew how little or how much he had. He never would own horses\nlest he should give people reason to accuse him of being arrogantly\nrich. We drove a great deal, but he always insisted on hiring his\ncarriages. If he accepted remuneration for his brain and heart labour,\nScripture tells us, \"The labourer is worthy of his hire.\" He was\nforemost in helping in any time of public calamity, not only in our own\ncountry but more than once in foreign lands. And when volumes of his\nsermons were pirated over the country, and he was urged to take legal\nsteps to stop the injustice, he said: \"Let them alone; the sermons will\ngo farther and do more good.\"\n\nDr. Talmage's opinions were sought eagerly, and upon all subjects of\nsocial, political, or international interest. He was a student of men,\nand kept ever in close touch with the progress of events. A voluminous\nand rapid reader, he was quick to grasp the aim and significance of what\nhe read and apply it to his purpose. His library in Washington\ncontained a large and valuable collection of classics, ancient and\nmodern; and his East Hampton library was almost a duplicate of this. He\nnever travelled very far without a trunkful of books. I remember, in the\nfirst year of our marriage, his interest in some books I had brought\nfrom my home that were new to him. Many of them he had not had time to\nread, so, in the evenings, I used to read them aloud to him. Tolstoi's\nworks were his first choice; together we read a life of the great\nRussian, which the Doctor enjoyed immensely.\n\nThe Bible was ever held by Dr. Talmage in extreme reverence, which grew\nwith his continual study and meditation of the sacred pages. He\nrepudiated the \"higher criticism\" with a vehemence that caused him to be\nsharply assailed by modern critics--pronounced infidels or of infidel\nproclivities--who called him a \"bibliolater.\" He asserted and reasserted\nhis belief in its divine inspiration: \"The Bible is right in its\nauthenticity, right in its style, right in its doctrine, and right in\nits effects. There is less evidence that Shakespeare wrote 'Hamlet,'\nthat Milton wrote 'Paradise Lost,' or that Tennyson wrote 'The Charge of\nthe Light Brigade,' than that the Bible is God's Word, written under\ninspiration by evangelists and prophets. It has stood the bombardment of\nages, but with the result of more and more proof of its being a book\ndivinely written and protected.\" \"Science and Revelation are the bass\nand soprano of the same tune,\" he said. He defied the attempts of the\nloud-mouthed orators to destroy belief in the Bible. \"I compare such men\nas Ingersoll, in their attacks on the Bible, to a grasshopper upon a\nrailway-line with the express coming thundering along.\"\n\nHis living portraits of Jesus, the Saviour of men, his studies of that\ndivine life, of the words, the actions of the Son of God, especially of\nHis sufferings and death, merging into the glory of His resurrection and\nascension, are all well known to those who were of his wide audience.\nThe sweetness, gentleness, and sympathy of the Saviour were favourite\nthemes with him. In a sermon on tears, he says: \"Jesus had enough trials\nto make him sympathetic with all sorrowful souls. The shortest verse in\nthe Bible tells the story: 'Jesus wept.' The scar on the back of either\nhand, the scar in the arch of either foot, the row of scars along the\nline of the hair, _will keep all Heaven thinking_. Oh, that Great Weeper\nis the One to silence all earthly trouble, to wipe all the stains of\nearthly grief. Gentle! Why, His step is softer than the step of the dew.\nIt will not be a tyrant bidding you hush your crying. It will be a\nFather who will take you on His left arm, His face beaming into yours,\nwhile with the soft tips of the fingers of the right hand He shall wipe\naway all tears from your eyes.\" And here is a word of appeal to those\ngone astray: \"The great heart of Christ _aches_ to have you come in; and\nJesus this moment looks into your eyes and says: 'Other sheep I have\nthat are not of this fold.'\"\n\nDr. Talmage was at times acutely sensitive to the thrusts of sharp\ncriticism dealt to him through envy or misunderstanding of his motives.\nA great writer has said somewhere: \"Accusations make wounds and leave\nscars\"; but even the scars were soon worn off his outraged feelings by\nthe remembrance of his divine Master's gentleness and forgiveness. How\noften have I seen the mandate, \"Love your enemies; do good to them that\nhate you,\" verified in Dr. Talmage. He could not bear detraction or\nuncharitableness. His heart was so broad and loving that he seemed to\nhave room in it for the whole world; and his greeting of strangers on an\nAustralian platform, amid the heathers of Scotland, or in the Golden\nGate of California, was so free and cordial that each one might have\nthought himself a dear friend of the Doctor, and he would have been\nright in thinking so. Again, his sense of humour was so great that he\ncould laugh and \"poke fun\" at his critics with such ease and good humour\nthat their arrows passed harmlessly over his head. \"Men have a right to\ntheir opinions,\" he would genially say. \"There are twenty tall pippin\ntrees in the orchard to one crab apple tree. There are a million clover\nblooms to one thistle in the meadow.\"\n\nHis will power was extraordinary; it was endowed with a persistence that\novercame every obstacle of his life; there was an air of supreme\nconfidence, of overwhelming vitality, about his every act. Nothing\nseemed to me more wonderful in him than this; and it entered into all\nhis actions, from those that were important and far-reaching in their\nconsequences to the workings of his daily life in the home. Though his\nway through these last milestones, during which I travelled with him,\nwas chiefly through the triumphal archways he had raised for himself\nupon the foundations of his work, there were indications that their\ncornerstone was the will power of his nature.\n\nMany incidents of the years before I knew him justify this opinion. One\nin particular illustrates the extraordinary perseverance of Dr.\nTalmage's character. When his son DeWitt was a boy, in a sudden mood of\nadventure one day, he enlisted in the United States Navy. Shortly\nafterwards he regretted having done so. Some one went to his father and\ntold him that the boy was on board a warship at Hampton Roads, homesick\nand miserable. Dr. Talmage went directly to Washington, straight into\nthe office of Mr. Thompson, the Secretary of the Navy. \"I am Dr.\nTalmage,\" he said promptly; \"my son has enlisted in the Navy and is on a\nship near Norfolk. I want to go to him and bring him home. He is\nhomesick. Will you write me an order for his release?\" The Secretary\nreplied that it had become an impression among rich men's sons that they\ncould take an oath of service to the U.S. Government, and break it as\nsoon as their fathers were ready, through the influence of wealth, to\nsecure their release. He was opposed to such an idea, he said; and,\ntherefore, though he was very sorry, he could not grant Dr. Talmage's\nrequest. The Doctor immediately took a chair in the office, and said\nfirmly: \"I shall not leave this office, Mr. Secretary, until you write\nout an order releasing my son.\"\n\nThe hour for luncheon came. The Secretary invited the Doctor to lunch\nwith him. \"I shall not leave this office, Mr. Secretary, until I get\nthat order,\" was the Doctor's reply. The Secretary of the Navy left the\noffice; after an absence of an hour and a half, he returned and found\nDr. Talmage still sitting in the same place. The afternoon passed.\nDinner time came round. \"Dr. Talmage, will you not honour me by coming\nup to my house to dine, and staying with us over night?\" asked the\nSecretary. \"I shall not leave this office until you write out that order\nreleasing my son, Mr. Secretary,\" was the calm, persistent reply. The\nSecretary departed. The building was empty, save for a watchman, to whom\nthe Secretary said in passing, \"There is a gentleman in my room. When he\nwishes to leave let him out of the building.\"\n\nAbout nine o'clock at night the Secretary became anxious. Telephones\nwere not common then, so he went down to the office to investigate; and\nsitting there in the place where he had been all day was Dr. Talmage.\nThe order was written that night. This incident was told me by a friend\nof the Doctor's. There can be no doubt that Dr. Talmage was justified in\nthis demand of paternal love and sympathy, since numbers of such\nconcessions had been made by the Secretary and his predecessors. His\ndaring and his pertinacity were overwhelming forces of his genius.\n\nIn the winter months of this year I enjoyed another lecturing tour with\nhim through Canada and the West. The lecture bureau that arranged his\ntours must have counted on his herculean strength, for frequently he had\nto travel twenty-four hours at a stretch to keep his engagements.\nOccasionally he was paid in cash at the end of the lecture an amount\nfixed by the lecture bureau. I have seen him with perhaps $2,000 in\nbills and gold stuffed away carelessly in his pocket, as if money were\nmerely some curious specimen of no special value. Sometimes he would\nreceive his fee in a cheque, and, as happened once in a small Western\ntown, he would have very little money with him. I remember an occasion\nof this kind, because it was amusing. The cheque had been given the\nDoctor as usual at the end of his lecture. It was about eleven at night,\nand we were compelled to take a midnight train out to reach his next\nplace of engagement. At the hotel where we stayed they did not have\nmoney enough to cash the cheque. We walked up the street to the other\nhotel, but found there an equal lack of the circulating medium. It was a\nbitter cold night.\n\n\"Here we are out in the world without a roof over our heads, Eleanor,\"\nsaid the Doctor, merrily. \"What a cold world it is to the unfortunate.\"\nFinally Dr. Talmage went to the ticket office of the railroad and\nexplained the situation to the young man in charge. \"I can't give you\ntickets, but I will buy them for you, and you can send me the money,\"\nthe clerk said promptly. As we had an all-day ride before us and a\ndrawing room to secure, the amount was not inconsiderable. I think it\nwas on this trip that William Jennings Bryan got on the train and\nenlivened the journey for us. The stories he and the Doctor hammered out\nof the long hours of travel were entertaining. We exchanged invitations\nto the dining car so as not to stop the flow of conversation between Mr.\nBryan and the Doctor. We would invite him to lunch, and Mr. Bryan would\nask us to dinner, or _vice versa_, so that the social amenities were\ndelightfully extended to keep us in mutual enjoyment of the trip. Dr.\nTalmage and myself agreed that Mr. Bryan's success on the platform was\nmuch enhanced by his wonderful voice. The Doctor said he had never heard\nso exquisite a speaking voice in a man as Mr. Bryan's. He always spoke\nin eloquent support of the masses, denouncing the trusts with vehemence.\n\nTravelling was always a kind of luxury to me, when we were not obliged\nto stop over at some wretched hotel. The Pullman cars were palatial in\ncomfort compared to the hotels we had to enter. But Dr. Talmage was\nalways satisfied; no hotel, however poor, could alter the cheerfulness\nof his temperament.\n\nIn January, 1901, Queen Victoria died, and Dr. Talmage's eulogy went far\nand wide. I quote again from my scrap-book a part of his comment on this\nworld event:\n\n\"While Queen Victoria has been the friend of all art, all literature,\nall science, all invention, all reform, her reign will be most\nremembered for all time, all eternity, as the reign of Christianity.\nBeginning with that scene at 5 o'clock in the morning in Kensington\nPalace, where she asked the Archbishop of Canterbury to pray for her,\nand they knelt down imploring Divine guidance until her last hour, not\nonly in the sublime liturgy of her established Church, but on all\noccasions, she has directly or indirectly declared: 'I believe in God,\nthe Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth, and in Jesus Christ, His\nonly begotten Son.'\n\n\"The Queen's book, so much criticised at the time of its appearance,\nsome saying that it was skilfully done, and some saying that the private\naffairs of a household ought not to have been exposed, was nevertheless\na book of rare usefulness, from the fact that it showed that God was\nacknowledged in all her life, and that 'Rock of Ages' was not an unusual\nsong at Windsor Castle.\n\n\"I believe that no throne since the throne of David and the throne of\nHezekiah and the throne of Esther, has been in such constant touch with\nthe throne of heaven as the throne of Victoria. Sixty-three years of\nwomanhood enthroned!\"\n\nIn March of 1901 Dr. Talmage inaugurated a series of Twentieth Century\nRevival Meetings in the Academy of Music, in New York. It was a great\nGospel campaign in which thousands were powerfully impressed for life.\nThe Doctor seemed to have made a new start in a defined evangelical plan\nof saving the world. Indeed, _to save_ was his great watchword, to save\nsinners, but most of all to save men from becoming sinners. One of his\nfamous themes--and thousands remember his burning words--was \"The Three\nGreatest Things to Do--Save a Man, Save a Woman, Save a Child.\" There\nwas a certain anxiety in my mind about Dr. Talmage in this sixty-eighth\nyear of his life, and I used to tell him that he had reached the top of\nall religious obligations as he himself felt them, that there was\nnothing greater for him to do, and that he might now move with softer\nmeasure to the inspired impulses of his life. But he never delayed, he\nnever tarried, he never waited. He marched eagerly ahead, as if the\nmilestones of his life stretched many years beyond.\n\nOur social life in Washington was subservient to Dr. Talmage's reign of\npreaching. We never accepted invitations without the privilege of\nqualifying our acceptance, making them subject to the Doctor's religious\nduties. The privilege was gracefully acknowledged by all our friends. We\nwere away from Washington, too, a great deal. In the spring of this\nyear, 1901, the Doctor made a lecturing tour through the South, that was\nfull of oratorical triumphs for him, but no less marked by delightful\nsocial incidents. There was a series of dinners and receptions in his\nhonour that I shall never forget, in those beautiful homes of\nMississippi, Alabama, and Tennessee. Because of his Gospel pilgrimage of\nmany years in these places, Dr. Talmage had grown to be a household god\namong them.\n\nWhen winter had shed his garland of snow over nature, or when we were\nknee deep in summer's verdure and flowers, East Hampton was the Doctor's\nheadquarters. From there we made our summer trips. It was after a short\nseason at East Hampton in the summer of 1901, that the Doctor went to\nOcean Grove, where he delivered a Fourth of July oration, the enormous\nauditorium being crowded to its utmost capacity. A few days later we\nwent to Buffalo, where, in a large tent standing in the Exposition\nground, Dr. Talmage lectured, his powerful voice triumphing over the\nfireworks that, from a place near by, went booming up through the\nheavens. After a series of Chautauqua lectures through Michigan and\nWisconsin, the Doctor finished his course at Lake Port, Maryland, near\npicturesque Deer Park. These are merely casual recollections, too brief\nto serve otherwise than as evidence of Dr. Talmage's tremendous industry\nand energy.\n\nIn September, 1901, came the assassination of President McKinley. Dr.\nTalmage had an engagement to preach at Ocean Grove the day following the\ndisaster. On our arrival at the West End Hotel, Long Branch, the Doctor\nwent in to register while we remained in the carriage at the door.\nSuddenly he came out, and I could see that he was very much agitated. He\nhad just received the news of the tragedy.\n\n\"I cannot preach to-morrow,\" he said. \"This is too horrible. McKinley\nhas been shot. What shall I do?\" And he stood there utterly stunned;\nunable to think. \"Well, we will stop at the hotel to-night, at any\nrate,\" I said, \"let us go in.\"\n\nLater the Doctor tried to explain to those in charge at Ocean Grove that\nhe could not preach, but they prevailed upon him to deliver the sermon\nhe had with him, which he did, prefacing it with appropriate remarks\nabout the national disaster of the hour.\n\nThe following telegram was immediately sent to the Chief of the Nation,\ncut off so ruthlessly in his career of honour and usefulness:--\n\n    \"Long Branch, September 6th.\n\n    \"President McKinley, Buffalo, N.Y.\n\n    \"The Nation is in prayer for your recovery. You will be nearer and\n    dearer to the people than ever before after you have passed this\n    crisis. Mrs. Talmage joins me in sympathy.\n\n    \"T. DEWITT TALMAGE.\"\n\nAfter the death of the President the Doctor preached his sermon \"Our\nDead President\" for the first time in the little church at East Hampton,\nwhere it had been written in his study. In October the Doctor was called\nupon to preach at the obsequies of the Rev. Dr. Sunderland, for many\nyears pastor of the First Presbyterian Church in Washington. What a long\nseason of obsequies Dr. Talmage solemnised! And yet, with what supreme\noptimism he defied the unseen arrow in his own life that came to pierce\nhim with such suddenness in April, 1902.\n\nThe Doctor had been a good traveller, and he was fond of travelling;\nbut, toward the end of his life, there were moments when he felt its\nfatiguing influences. He never complained or appeared apprehensive, but\nI remember the first time he showed any weariness of spirit. I almost\nrecall his words: \"I have written so much about everything, that now it\nbecomes difficult for me to write. I am tired.\" It frightened me to hear\nhim say this, he was so wonderful in endurance and strength; and I could\nnot shake off the effect that this first sign of his declining years\nmade upon me. He was then sixty-nine years old, and the last of the\ntwelve children, save his sister.\n\nThe last sermon he ever wrote was preached in February, 1902. The text\nof this was from Psalms xxxiii. 2: \"Sing unto Him with the Psaltery, and\nan instrument of ten strings.\" This was David's harp of gratitude and\npraise. After some introductory paragraphs on the harp, its age, the\nvarieties of this \"most consecrated of all instruments,\" its\n\"tenderness,\" its place in \"the richest symbolism of the Holy\nScriptures,\" he writes: \"David's harp had ten strings, and, when his\ngreat soul was afire with the theme, his sympathetic voice, accompanied\nby exquisite vibrations of the chords, must have been overpowering....\nThe simple fact is that the most of us, if we praise the Lord at all,\nplay upon one string or two strings, or three strings, when we ought to\ntake a harp fully chorded, and with glad fingers sweep all the strings.\nInstead of being grateful for here and there a blessing we happen to\nthink of, we ought to rehearse all our blessings, and obey the\ninjunction of my text to sing unto Him with an instrument of ten\nstrings.\" \"Have you ever thanked God for delightsome food?\" he asks; and\nfor sight for \"the eye, the window of our immortal nature, the gate\nthrough which all colours march, the picture gallery of the soul?\" He\nenumerates other blessings--hearing, sleep, the gift of reason, the\nbeauties of nature, friends. \"I now come,\" he continues, \"to the tenth\nand last. I mention it last that it may be more memorable--heavenly\nanticipation. By the grace of God we are going to move into a place so\nmuch better than this, that on arriving we will wonder that we were for\nso many years so loath to make the transfer. After we have seen Christ\nface to face, and rejoiced over our departed kindred, there are some\nmighty spirits we will want to meet soon after we pass through the\ngates.\" As his graphic pen depicts the scene--the meeting with David and\nthe great ones of Scripture, \"the heroes and heroines who gave their\nlives for the truth, the Gospel proclaimers, the great Christian poets,\nall the departed Christian men and women of whatever age or nation\"--he\nseems to have already a foretaste of the wonderful vision so soon to\nopen to his eyes. \"Now,\" he concludes, \"take down your harp of ten\nstrings and sweep all the chords. Let us make less complaint and offer\nmore thanks; render less dirge and more cantata. Take paper and pen and\nwrite in long columns your blessings.... Set your misfortunes to music,\nas David opened his dark sayings on a harp.... Blessing, and honour and\nglory and power be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne and unto the\nLamb for ever. Amen!\"\n\nI recall that when Dr. Talmage first read this sermon to me in his\nstudy, he said: \"That is the best I can do; I shall never write a better\nsermon.\" I have been told that when a man says he has reached the\ntopmost effort of his abilities, it presages his end, and the march of\nevents seemed to verify the axiom.\n\nDr. Talmage's last journey came about through the invitation of the\nMexican minister in Washington. The latter met Dr. Talmage at dinner,\nand on hearing that he had never preached in Mexico he urged him to go\nthere. When the Doctor's plans had all been made, some friends tried to\ndissuade him from going, secretly fearing, perhaps, the tax it would be\non his strength. Yet there was no evidence at this time to support their\nfears, and the Doctor himself would have been the last to listen to any\nwarning. He was very busy during the few days that preceded our\ndeparture from Washington in attending the meetings of the Committee of\ndistinguished clergymen who were in session to revise the creed of the\nPresbyterian Church.\n\nThe day before we left for Mexico, the Doctor told me he desired to\nentertain these gentlemen, as had been his custom during all important\ngatherings of representative churchmen who visited Washington. He was in\ngreat spirits. His ideas of a social affair were definite and generous,\nas we discovered that day, much to our amusement.\n\n\"Eleanor,\" he said, \"I feel as though I would like to have these\ngentlemen to luncheon at my house to-morrow. Can you arrange it? I could\nnot possibly leave Washington without showing them some special\ncourtesy. Now, I want a real meal, something to sit down to. None of\nyour floating oysters, or little daubs of meat in pastry, but real food,\nwhole turkeys, four or five of them--a substantial meal.\" The Doctor's\nrespect for chicken patties, creamed oysters, and the usual buffet\nreception luncheon, was clearly not very great.\n\nThe luncheon was given at 1.30 on the day appointed; the distinguished\nguests all came, two by two, into our house. A few weeks later, they\ncame again in a body, two by two, into the house of mourning.\n\nBesides the visiting clergy, Dr. Talmage had also invited for this\nluncheon other representative men of Washington. It was the last social\ngathering which the Doctor ever attended in his own home, and perhaps\nfor that reason becomes a significant event in my memory. After the rest\nhad departed, Dr. Henry Van Dyke remained for an hour or two to talk\nwith my husband in his study. Dr. Talmage so often referred to the great\npleasure this long interview had given him, that I am sure it was one of\nthe supreme enjoyments of his last spiritual milestone.\n\nThe night before we left Washington an incident occurred that directly\nconcerns these pages. We had gone down into the basement of the house to\nlook for some papers the Doctor kept there in the safe, and in taking\nthem out he picked up the manuscript of his autobiography. As we went\nupstairs I said to the Doctor, \"What a pity that you have not completed\nit entirely.\"\n\nThe Doctor replied, \"All the obscure part of my life is written here,\nand a great part of the rest of it. When I return from Mexico I will\nfinish it. If anything should happen, however, it can be completed from\nscrapbooks and other data.\"\n\nWe went into his study and the Doctor had just begun to read it to me\nwhen we were interrupted by a call from Senator Hanna. Dr. Talmage\nparticularly admired Senator Hanna, and, as they were great friends, the\nautobiography was forgotten for the rest of the evening. Knowing that\nthe Doctor was about to leave Washington the Senator had come to wish\nhim goodby, and to urge him to visit his brother at Thomasville,\nGeorgia, where we were to stop on our way to Mexico. I remember Senator\nHanna said to the Doctor, \"You will find the place very pretty; we own a\ngood deal of property there, so much so that it could easily be called\nHannaville.\" The next morning we started for the City of Mexico, going\ndirect to Charleston, where the Doctor preached. He was entertained a\ngood deal there, and we witnessed the opening of the Charleston\nExposition.\n\nFrom Charleston we went to Thomasville, Georgia, where we spent a week,\nduring which time the Doctor preached and lectured twice at nearby\nplaces. It was here that we met the first accident of our journey. Just\nas we were steaming into Thomasville we ran into a train ahead, and\nthere was some loss of life and great damage. Fortunately we were in the\nlast Pullman car of the train. I have always believed that the shock of\nthis accident was the beginning of the end for Dr. Talmage. He showed no\nfear, and he gave every assistance possible to others; but, in the\ntension of the moment, in his own self-restraint for the sake of\nothers, I think that he overtaxed his strength more than he realised. I\nnever wanted to see a train again, and begged the Doctor to let us\nremain in Thomasville the rest of our lives. The next morning, however,\nDr. Talmage started out on a preaching engagement in the neighbourhood\nby train, but we remained behind. Our stay in Thomasville was made very\nenjoyable by the relatives of Senator Hanna, whose beautiful estates\nwere a series of landscape pictures I shall always remember. Although\nthe Doctor was obliged to be away on lecturing engagements three times\nduring the week he enjoyed the drives about Thomasville with us while he\nwas there. Our destination after leaving Thomasville was New Orleans,\nwhere Dr. Talmage was received as if he had been a national character.\nHe was welcomed by a distinguished deputation with the utmost\ncordiality. _The Christian Herald_ said of this occasion: \"When he went\non the following Sunday to the First Presbyterian Church he found a\ngreat multitude assembled, the large building densely packed within and\na much vaster gathering out of doors unable to obtain admittance.\nThousands went away disappointed. He spoke with even more than usual\nforce and conviction.\" Never were we more royally entertained or feted\nthan we were here. From New Orleans we went to San Antonio, where we\nstopped off for two or three days' sight-seeing. The Doctor was urged to\npreach and lecture while he was there; but he excused himself on the\nground of a previous engagement, promising, however, to lecture in San\nAntonio on his return trip to Washington.\n\nOn our way from San Antonio to the City of Mexico our train ran into one\nof the sand-storms, for which the Mexican country is famous at certain\ntimes of the year; and we were at a standstill on a side track at a\nsmall station for twenty-four hours. The food was execrable, the wind\nand sand were choking, and the whole experience trying in the extreme.\nWe were warned against thieves of the neighbourhood, and, during the\nnight we were locked in the cars to ensure the safety of our belongings.\nIn spite of these precautions a shawl which the Doctor valued, because\nit had been presented to him by the citizens of Melbourne, Australia,\nwas stolen during the night through an open window. They were not\nbashful those thieves of the sandstorm. From a private car attached to\nthe rear of our train they stole a refrigerator bodily off the platform.\n\nThe Doctor had long been suffering from his throat, and all these\nannoyances had the effect of increasing the painful symptoms to such a\ndegree that when we finally got into the city of Mexico on Saturday,\nMarch 1st, it was necessary to call a physician. Dr. Talmage had brought\nwith him a number of letters of introduction from Washington to people\nin the City of Mexico, but the Mexican minister had written ahead of us,\nand on the day we arrived people left their cards and extended\ninvitations that promised to keep us socially busy every day of our\nweek's visit.\n\nThe Doctor was ailing a little, I thought, but not seriously. He had a\nslight cold. Although he had planned to preach only in the Presbyterian\nChurch a week from our arrival, the people of the other Protestant\ndenominations urged him with such importunity that he agreed to preach\nfor them on the first Sunday, the day after our arrival. This was an\nunexpected strain on Dr. Talmage after a very trying journey; but he\nnever could refuse to preach, no matter how great his fatigue. On the\nfollowing Tuesday a luncheon was given Dr. Talmage by General Porfirio\nDiaz, the President of the Mexican Republic, at his palace in\nChapultepec. The Doctor enjoyed a long audience with the aged statesman,\nduring which the mutual interests and prospects of the two countries\nwere freely discussed, President Diaz manifesting himself, as always, a\nfriend and admirer of our government and people. During the afternoon a\ncold wind had come up, and the drive home increased the Doctor's\nindisposition, so that he was obliged to confine himself to his room.\nStill he was up and about, and we felt no alarm whatever. On Thursday\nnight, he complained of a pain at the base of his brain, and at about\nfour in the morning I was awakened by him:--\n\n\"Eleanor,\" he said, \"I seem to be very ill; I believe I am dying.\" The\nshock was very great, it was such a rare thing for him to be ill. We\nsent for the best American physician in the city of Mexico, Dr. Shields,\nwho diagnosed the Doctor's case as _grippe_. He at once allayed my\nfears, assuring me that it would not be serious.\n\nDr. Talmage had promised to lecture on Friday, March 7th, and we had\nsome trouble to prevent him from keeping this engagement. Dr. Shields\ninsisted that Dr. Talmage should not leave his room, declaring that the\nexertion would be too much for him. Not until Dr. Shields had assured\nDr. Talmage that the people could be notified by special handbills and\nthe newspapers would he consent to break the engagement.\n\nOn Friday night Dr. Talmage grew worse; and finally he asked to be taken\nhome, personally making arrangements with Dr. Shields to travel with us\nas far as the Mexican border, as my knowledge of Spanish was very\nlimited. Eventually it became necessary for Dr. Shields to go all the\nway with us. In the great sorrow that the people of Mexico felt over the\nsudden illness of Dr. Talmage, their regret at his cancelled engagements\nwas swallowed up, and there was one great wave of sympathy which touched\nus not a little.\n\nThe journey to Washington was a painful one. Dr. Talmage kept growing\nworse. All day long he lay on the couch before me in our drawing-room on\nthe train, saying nothing--under the constant care of the physician.\nTelegrams and letters followed the patient all the way from Mexico to\nthe Capital city. At every station silent, awe-stricken crowds were\ngathered to question of the state of the beloved sufferer. In New\nOrleans we had to stay over a day, so as to secure accommodation on the\ntrain to Washington. While there many messages of condolence were left\nat the hotel, a party of ladies calling especially to thank me for the\n\"great care I was taking of their Dr. Talmage.\"\n\nOn our route to the national city, I remember the Doctor drew me down\nbeside him to speak to me. He was then extremely weak and his voice was\nvery low: \"Eleanor, I believe this is death,\" he said.\n\nThe long journey, in which years seemed compressed into days, at last\ncame to a close. The train pulled up in Washington, and our own\nphysician, Dr. Magruder, met us at the station. Dr. Talmage was borne\ninto his home in a chair, and upstairs into his bedroom, where already\nthe angel of death had entered to welcome and guard him, though, alas!\nwe knew it not, and still hoped against hope. Occasional rallies took\nplace; but evidences of cerebral inflammation appeared, and the patient\nsank into a state of unconsciousness, which was only a prelude to death.\nBulletins were given to the public daily by the attending physicians;\nand if aught could have assuaged the anguish of such moments it would\nhave been the universal interest and sympathy shown from all parts of\nthe world.\n\nReaders will pardon me if I reproduce from _The Christian Herald_ a\nrecord of the last scene. It is hard \"to take down the folded shadows of\nour bereavement\" and hold it even to the gaze of friends.\n\n\"After a painful illness, lasting several weeks, America's best-beloved\npreacher, the Reverend Thomas DeWitt Talmage, passed from earth to the\nlife above, on April 12th, 1902. Ever since his return from Mexico,\nwhere he was prostrated by a sudden attack which rapidly assumed the\nform of cerebral congestion, he had lain in the sick chamber of his\nWashington home, surrounded by his family and cared for by the most\nskilful physicians. Each day brought its alternate hopes and fears. Much\nof the time was passed in unconsciousness; but there were intervals\nwhen, even amid his sufferings, he could speak to and recognise those\naround him. No murmur or complaint came from his lips; he bore his\nsuffering bravely, sustained by a Higher Power. The message had come\nwhich sooner or later comes to all, and the aged servant of God was\nready to go; he had been ready all his life.\n\n\"Occasional rallies took place, raising hopes which were quickly\nabandoned. From April 5th to April 12th these rallies occurred at\nfrequent intervals, always followed by a condition of increased\ndepression, more or less augmented fever and partial unconsciousness. On\nSaturday, April 12th, a great change became apparent. For many hours the\npatient had been unconscious. As the day wore on, it became evident that\nhe could not live through another night. All of Dr. Talmage's\nfamily--his wife, his son, the Rev. Frank DeWitt Talmage, of Chicago;\nMrs. Warren G. Smith and Mrs. Daniel Mangam, of Brooklyn; Mrs. Allen E.\nDonnan, of Richmond; and Mrs. Clarence Wycoff and Miss Talmage, were\ngathered in the chamber of death. Dr. G.L. Magruder, the principal\nphysician, was also in attendance at the last. At 9.25 o'clock p.m., the\nsoul took flight from the inanimate clay, and the spirit of the world's\ngreatest preacher was released.\"\n\nThe Rev. T. Chalmers Easton, an old and valued friend of Dr. Talmage,\nwas in frequent attendance upon him, and never ceased his ministrations\nuntil the eyes of the beloved one were closed in death. A brief excerpt\nfrom his address at the Memorial Service of the Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage\nheld at the Eastern Presbyterian Church, Washington, may not be\nunacceptable to the reader:\n\n\"A truly great man or eloquent orator does not die--\n\n    'And is he dead whose glorious mind\n      Lifts thine on high?\n    To live in hearts we leave behind\n      Is not to die.'\n\n\"What shall we say of the prince in Israel who has left us? Can we\ncompress the ocean into a dewdrop? No more is it possible to condense\ninto one brief hour what is due to the memory of our beloved and\nillustrious friend. His moral courage was only equalled by his giant\nframe and physical strength. He was made of the very stuff that martyrs\nare made of: one of the most remarkable individualities of our time. A\nman of no negative qualities, aggressive and positive.\n\n\"His whole soul was full of convictions of right and duty. A firm\nfriend, a man of ready recognition, a human magnet in his focalising\npower. He was true in every deed, and never needed a veil to be\ndrawn.... If, as his personal friend for more than twenty years, I\nshould attempt to open up the treasures of his real greatness, where\nshall we find more of those sterling virtues that poets have sung,\nartists portrayed, and historians commended? He was truly a great man--a\nman of God!\n\n\"The last years of his life were full of happiness in the living\ncompanionship of her who so sadly mourns his departure. He frequently\nspoke to me of the great inspiration brought into these years by her\nceaseless devotion to all his plans and work, making what was burdensome\nin his accumulating literary duties a pleasure.... The last fond look of\nrecognition was given to his beloved wife, and the last word that fell\nfrom his lips, when far down in the valley, was the sweetest music to\nhis ears--'Eleanor.'\n\n\"It was said once by an eminent writer that when Abraham Lincoln, the\nforest-born liberator, entered Heaven, he threw down at God's throne\nthree million yokes as the trophies of his great act of emancipation; as\ngreat as that was, I think it was small, indeed, compared with the tens\nof thousands of souls Talmage redeemed from the yokes of sin and shame\nby the glorious Gospel preached with such fervour and power of the Holy\nGhost. What a mighty army stood ready to greet him at the gates of the\nheavenly city as the warrior passed in to be crowned by his Sovereign\nand King!\"\n\nThe funeral services were held at the Church of the Covenant,\nWashington, on April 15th. The ceremony began at 5 p.m., with the \"Dead\nMarch from Saul,\" and lasted considerably over an hour. The coffin\nrested immediately in front of the pulpit, and over it was a massive bed\nof violets. On a silver plate was the inscription:\n\n    THOMAS DEWITT TALMAGE,\n    JANUARY 7TH, 1832-APRIL 12TH, 1902\n\nThe floral offerings were numerous, including a wreath of white roses\nand lilies of the valley sent by President and Mrs. Roosevelt. The\nofficiating clergymen were the Rev. Dr. T.S. Hamlin, pastor of the\nChurch; the Rev. Dr. T. Chalmers Easton, of Washington; and the Rev.\nDrs. S.J. Nicols, and James Demarest, of Brooklyn. A male quartette\nsang: \"Lead, Kindly Light,\" a favourite hymn of Dr. Talmage; \"Beyond the\nSmiling and the Weeping\"; and \"It is well with my Soul.\" The addresses\nof the Reverend Doctors were eulogistic of the dead preacher, of whom\nthey had been intimate friends for more than a quarter of a century. The\nbody lay in state four hours, during which thousands passed in review\naround it.\n\nAt midnight the remains of Dr. Talmage were conveyed by private train to\nBrooklyn, where the burial took place in Greenwood Cemetery. The funeral\n_cortege_ arrived about ten o'clock in the morning; hundreds were\nalready in the cemetery, waiting to behold the last rites paid to one\nthey revered and loved. The Episcopal burial service was read by the\nRev. Dr. Howard Suydam, an old friend and classmate of Dr. Talmage, who\nmade a brief address, and concluded the simple ceremonies by the recital\nof the Lord's Prayer.\n\nTributes were paid to the illustrious dead all over the civilised world,\nand in many languages; while thousands of letters of condolence and\ntelegrams assured the family in those days of affliction that human\nhearts were throbbing with ours and fain would comfort us. One wrote\nfeelingly:\n\n\"When Dr. Talmage described the Heavenly Jerusalem, he seemed to feel\nall the ecstatic fervour of a Bernard of Cluny, writing:\n\n    'For thee, O dear, dear Country!\n      Mine eyes their vigils keep;\n    For very love beholding\n      Thy holy name, they weep.'\"\n\nAnd it seems to me that I cannot better close this altogether unworthy\nsketch of Dr. Talmage than by offering the reader as a parting\nremembrance, in its simple beauty, his \"Celestial Dream\":\n\n\"One night, lying on my lounge when very tired, my children all around\nme in full romp and hilarity and laughter, half awake and half asleep, I\ndreamed this dream: I was in a far country. It was not in Persia,\nalthough more than oriental luxuries crowned the cities. It was not the\ntropics, although more than tropical fruitfulness filled the gardens. It\nwas not Italy, although more than Italian softness filled the air. And I\nwandered around looking for thorns and nettles, but I found that none of\nthem grew there; and I saw the sun rise and watched to see it set, but\nit set not. And I saw people in holiday attire, and I said, 'When will\nthey put off all this, and put on workman's garb, and again delve in the\nmine or swelter at the forge?' But they never put off the holiday\nattire.\n\n\"And I wandered in the suburbs of the city to find the place where the\ndead sleep, and I looked all along the line of the beautiful hills, the\nplace where the dead might most blissfully sleep, and I saw towers and\ncastles, but not a mausoleum or a monument or a white slab was to be\nseen. And I went into the chapel of the great town, and I said: 'Where\ndo the poor worship, and where are the benches on which they sit?' And\nthe answer was made me, 'We have no poor in this country.'\n\n\"And then I wandered out to find the hovels of the destitute, and I\nfound mansions of amber and ivory and gold; but not a tear could I see,\nnot a sigh could I hear; and I was bewildered, and I sat down under the\nbranches of a great tree, and I said, 'Where am I, and whence comes all\nthis scene?' And then out from among the leaves and up the flowery paths\nand across the bright streams, there came a beautiful group thronging\nall about me, and as I saw them come I thought I knew their step, and as\nthey shouted I thought I knew their voices, but they were so gloriously\narrayed in apparel such as I had never before witnessed, that I bowed as\nstranger to stranger. But when again they clapped their hands and\nshouted 'Welcome! Welcome!' the mystery all vanished, and I found that\ntime had gone and eternity had come, and we were all together again in\nour new home in Heaven.\n\n\"And I looked around, and I said, 'Are we all here?' And the voices of\nmany generations responded, 'All here!' And while tears of gladness were\nraining down our cheeks, and the branches of the Lebanon cedars were\nclapping their hands, and the towers of the great city were chiming\ntheir welcome, we all together began to leap and shout and sing, 'Home,\nhome, home, home!'\"\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\nAbbott, Emma, her bequest to the Brooklyn Tabernacle, 244;\n  character, 244.\nAberdeen, Lord and Lady, 299.\nAdams, Edwin, 71.\nAdams, John, his administration, 8.\nAdler, Dr., 118.\nAgnus, General Felix, 223.\nAlba, 368.\nAlbany, intemperance, 45;\n  bribery, 46;\n  lobbyists driven out, 132.\nAlice, Princess, her death, 90.\nAllen, Barbara, case of, 82.\n\"America,\" s.s., length of voyage, 135.\nAmes, Coates, 74.\nAmoy, 19.\nAnarchists, execution of, 198.\nAnglo-American Commission, members of the, 325.\nAnnapolis, 326.\nArkell, W.J., 224.\nArthur, Chester A., elected President, 115;\n  relinquishes office, 143;\n  at Lexington, 188, 278;\n  his death, 188.\nAstor, Mrs. William, 55;\n  her death, 200;\n  will, 200.\nAtlantic, passage across, reduction, 99.\nAusten, Colonel, 221, 241.\nAvery, Miss Mary, her marriage, 25 _note_.\n\nBaden-baden, 388.\nBakewell, 351.\nBall club, a ministerial, 49.\nBanks, Rev. Dr. Louis Albert, 281.\nBarnes, Rev. Alfred, 48.\nBarnes, General Alfred C., 241.\nBarnes, Alfred S., 207.\nBartholdi statue, 149, 150.\nBaskenridge, 4.\nBayne, John, heroism of, 134.\nBeaconsfield, Lord, 104;\n  amount given for his \"Endymion,\" 107, 109.\nBeck, Senator, 276.\nBedloe's Island, 149.\nBeecher, Rev. Henry Ward, his views on theology, 119;\n  celebration of his fortieth year of pastoral service, 186;\n  character of his discourses, 187.\nBelfast, 391.\nBelgium, King Leopold of, in Paris, 388.\nBelleville, Reformed Church at, 18.\nBellows, Rev. Dr., 116.\nBenton, Thomas H., 104.\nBerg, Rev. Dr., 48.\nBergh, Professor Henry, his defence of animals, 100;\n  opposition to vivisection, 100;\n  his death, 208.\nBerlin, 374.\nBethune, George W., 186.\nBetting, practice of, in America, 147.\nBible, Higher Criticism, 253.\nBill, Buffalo, 261.\nBird, Mrs., 244.\nBirds, the slaughter of, 184.\nBirmingham, 267.\nBirmingham, Alabama, cyclone at, 340.\nBlackburn, Governor, 275;\n  his reception of Dr. Talmage, 276;\n  speech, 278.\nBlackburn, Mrs., 278.\nBlaine, James G., candidate for the Presidency, 138;\n  reports against, 138;\n  his vigour and exhaustion, 139;\n  reception at the White House, 144;\n  cartoons of, 175.\nBoardman, Rev. Dr., 48.\nBobolinks, number of, killed, 184.\nBobrinsky, Count, 263, 283.\nBoer War, 347.\nBond, Mr., 72.\nBonnet & Co., failure of, 76.\nBonynge, Mrs., 261.\nBoody, Hon. David A., 241, 281.\nBoston, conflagration of 1872, 231;\n  Union Church of 49.\nBound Brook, 9.\nBowery Mission, anniversary, 395.\nBowles, Samuel, 131.\nBrainerd, Dr., 38.\nBranch, F.H., 269.\nBrewer, Justice, 337.\nBrewers' Association, demand, 162.\nBribery, practice of, 165-167.\nBriggs, Dr., 245.\nBrighton Beach, races at, 147.\nBroadhead, Rev. Dr., 91.\nBrooklyn, corrupt condition, 64, 69, 75;\n  custom of carrying firearms, 75;\n  standard of commerce, 75;\n  Bill for a new city charter, 78;\n  number crossing the ferries, 78;\n  Lafayette Avenue railroad scheme, 79, 88;\n  police force, 82;\n  management of public taxes, 82;\n  spread of communism, 83;\n  reign of terror, 87;\n  bridge, 99;\n  cost, 120;\n  opened, 122;\n  improvement in local administration, 99;\n  number of pastors, 120;\n  pool rooms opened, 147;\n  railway strike, 167;\n  establishment of a labour exchange, 167;\n  new jail, 175;\n  pulpit builders, 186;\n  committee of investigation, 193;\n  ovation on the return of Dr. Talmage, 241.\nBrooklyn, the central Church of, 49, 50, 53;\n  alterations, 57.\nBrooklyn Tabernacle, the first, 55;\n  dedication, 3, 61, 62, 249;\n  enlarged, 62;\n  rededication, 62;\n  amount of collections, 62, 63;\n  burnt down, 65, 229, 231, 284-286;\n  size of the new, 67, 252;\n  law-suit, 94;\n  prosperity, 162;\n  appeal for funds to rebuild, 232;\n  trustees, 233;\n  subscribers, 234;\n  consecration of the ground, 234;\n  cost, 242;\n  position, 242;\n  rent of pews, 243;\n  corner-stone laid, 245;\n  contents, 245;\n  opened, 249;\n  financial difficulties, 268;\n  celebration festival of the 25th anniversary of Dr. Talmage's\n    pastorate, 280-283;\n  letter from the Trustees, 287.\nBrooks, Erastus, 131.\nBrooks, Phillips, 261, 272.\nBrower, Commissioner George V., 241.\nBrown, Henry Eyre, 281.\nBrown, Dr. John, 60.\nBrown, Dr., amount of his salary, 247.\nBrown, Senator, of Georgia, 110.\nBryan, William Jennings, 406;\n  his wonderful voice, 406.\nBryant, William Cullen, his death, 85;\n  incident of, 85;\n  \"Thanatopsis,\" 86;\n  his noble character, 86.\nBuchanan, James, President, his reply cablegram to Queen Victoria, 250.\nBuckley, Dr., 120.\nBuffalo, 408.\nBunker Hill, 156.\nBurnside, Senator, 115.\nBurr, Aaron, his infamy, 8.\nBurrows, Senator, 337.\nBush, Dr., his advice to students, 208.\nBushnell, Giles F., 234.\nButler, Ben F., nominated Governor of Massachusetts, 88;\n  candidate for the Presidency, 121.\nButter, Rev. T.G., 62.\nByrnes, Inspector, at the Press Club, 223.\n\nCable service, a cheaper, 135.\nCablegram, the first, 250.\nCampbell, Superintendent, 81.\nCanada, 326, 405.\nCanton, Ohio, 306.\nCarey, Senator, 256;\n  at Cheyenne, 104.\nCarleton, Will, 317.\nCarlisle, Mr., 128.\nCarlyle, Thomas, his house, 97;\n  portrait, 98;\n  library, 98;\n  death-bed, 110;\n  his opinion of Americans, 184.\nCarnegie, Andrew, his gift of a library to Washington, 335.\nCarpenter, Samuel, 223.\nCarroll, Mr., 102.\nCarson, Rev. Dr. John F., 281.\nCarson, Joseph E., 234.\nCartwright, Sir Richard, 325.\nCase, James S., 224.\nCatlin, General, 157.\n\"Central-America,\" sinks, 134.\nChambers, Rev. Dr., 3.\nChapin, Mayor, 241.\nCharleston, 414;\n  earthquake at, 178.\nChase, Salmon P., his death, 188.\nChatsworth, 353-355.\nChattanooga, 339.\nChelsea, 97.\nCheyenne, 104;\n  fashions in, 106.\nChicago, 99;\n  Calvary Church of, 49;\n  spread of communism, 83;\n  railway strike, 167;\n  execution of anarchists, 198;\n  conflagration of 1871, 231.\nChili, war with Peru, 117.\nChinese, legislative effort to exclude, 90;\n  exclusion of, 173;\n  dress, 173;\n  immigration Bill, 304.\nChloroform, first use of, 207, 356.\nChoate, Mr., 360.\nCholera, experiments on, 162.\n_Christian Herald_, extract from,\n    on the illness and death of Dr. Talmage, 419.\nChristiania, 365.\nChrysanthemum, rage for the, 158.\nChurch fairs, pastoral letter against, 72:\nCincinnati, 276;\n  differences in clock time, 189.\n\"City of Paris,\" 235.\n\"City of Rome,\" 133.\nCivil War, 38;\n  result, 42, 74.\nClarion, Mdme, 72.\nClay, Henry, 104;\n  his death, 188.\nClement, Judge, 241.\nCleveland, Grover, candidate, 117;\n  elected Governor of New York, 121;\n  candidate for the Presidency, 138;\n  elected, 140;\n  his mother's Bible, 144;\n  reception of Mr. Blaine, 144;\n  cartoons, 175;\n  marriage, 176;\n  his exercise of the right of veto, 180;\n  tour, 198;\n  message to Congress, 200;\n  his intercourse with Dr. Talmage, 301-306;\n  attack of rheumatism, 303;\n  objections to the Chinese Immigration Bill, 304;\n  attacks against, 306.\nCleveland, Mrs., 297;\n  her characteristics, 300, 301.\nCleveland, Miss Rose, 300.\nClinton, DeWitt, 102.\nCoates, A.E., 234.\nCockerill, Col. John A., at the Press Club, 223.\nColfax, Schuyler, 141.\nCollier, Judge, 363.\nCollier, Miss Rebekah, 346;\n  her diary, 350.\nCollins, Mr. and Mrs. John, 261.\nCollyer, Dr. Robert, amount of his salary, 247.\nColorado springs, 320.\nColquitt, Senator, 256.\nCommons, House of, dynamite explosion, 142.\nCommunism, theory of, 83.\nConey Island, 147, 179.\nConkling, Senator Roscoe, his opposition to the Silver Bill, 80;\n  characteristics, 209;\n  death, 209.\nConstantinople, earthquake, 191.\nConverse, Charles Cravat, 50.\nCoombs, Mr., 257.\nCooper, Fenimore, 85.\nCooper, Peter, 55, 57, 70.\nCopenhagen, 363\nCorbit, Rev. William P., 33-35.\nCork, 391.\nCoronado Beach, 320, 322.\nCorrigan, Archbishop, 191.\nCourtney, Judge, 241.\nCox, Rev. Dr. Samuel H., 186.\nCox, Mr., 128;\n  appointed minister to Turkey, 146;\n  his nicknames, 146.\nCradle, the family, 2.\nCreeds, revision of the, 244.\nCrosby, Dr., his ecclesiastical trial, 101.\nCroy, Peter, 17.\nCrystal Palace, banquet given to Dr. Talmage at, 267.\nCuba, victory in, 320.\nCulver, John Y., 241.\nCurry, Daniel, 196.\n\nDana, Richard Henry, his death, 93;\n  literary works, 94.\nDaniel, Senator, 256.\nDarling, Charles S., 233, 269.\nDavenport, E.L., 71.\nDavis, Jefferson, 339.\nDavis, Sir Louis, 325.\nDeer Park, 409.\nDemarest, Rev. Dr. James, at the funeral of Dr. Talmage, 422.\nDemocratic party, 46.\nDenmark, the national flower \"Golden Rain,\" 363.\nDenmark, Crown Prince and Princess of, receive Dr. Talmage, 364.\nDenver, 99, 320;\n  its age, 105;\n  picture galleries, 106.\nDepau, Mr., his bequest to religion, 194.\nDepew, Chauncey M., 223.\nDerbyshire, 351.\nDewey, Admiral, 348.\nDeWitt, Dr., 187.\nDeWitt, Gasherie, 31.\nDiaz, Gen. Porfirio, President of Mexico, 417;\n  his interview with Dr. Talmage, 417.\nDickens, Charles, result of insomnia, 62.\nDickey, Dr., 374.\nDilke, Sir Charles, 179.\nDivorce, views on, 237.\nDix, John A., 102.\nDix, Dr. Morgan, amount of his salary, 247.\nDixon, Rev. A.C., 281.\nDodge, William E., 55, 57.\nDonnan, Mrs. Allen E., 420.\nDoty, Ethan Allen, 224.\n\"Dow Junior's Patent Sermons,\" 16.\nDowling, Rev. Dr. John, 26.\n\"Dream, The Celestial,\" sketch, 423.\nDue West, 338.\nDuncan, John, 31.\nDuncan, William, 31.\n\n\"Earth Girdled, The,\" publication of, 289.\nEarthquake at Charleston, 178;\n  Constantinople, 191.\nEast Hampton, 57, 274, 338, 408.\nEastern, Rev. T. Chalmers, on the death of Dr. Talmage, 420;\n  at his funeral, 422.\nEdinburgh, 60, 97, 356.\nEdison, Prof. Thomas, 89.\nEducation, views on, 152.\nEllis, Hon. E.J., 81.\nErskine Theological College, Due West, 338.\nEvarts, Hon. William M., 283, 288.\nEwer, Rev. Dr., 123.\n\nFairbanks, Vice-president, 337.\nFairchild, Benjamin L., 234.\nFalls, Samuel B., 38.\nFar-Rockaway, First Presbyterian Church at, 229.\nFarwell, Senator, 261.\nFaulkner, Senator, 325.\nFerguson, James B., 269.\nFerron, Dr., his experiments with cholera, 162.\nField, Cyrus W., lays the cable, 249.\nField, Chief Justice, his death, 336.\nFinney, Dr., his revival meetings, 4.\nFish, Rev. Dr., 29.\nFish, Hamilton, Secretary to\n  General Grant, 70.\nFiske, Steven, 223.\n\"Florida,\" disaster of, 133.\nFlower, Roswell P., 223.\nFolger, Mr., 117.\nFood, adulteration of, 131.\nFoster, John, 53.\nFox, George L., 71.\nFox, G.V., 266.\nFrankfort, Kentucky, 275.\nFranklin, Benjamin, 173.\nFrazer, Dr., 120.\nFree trade question, 128.\nFreeman, Mr., 94.\nFrelinghuysen, Dominie, 149.\nFrelinghuysen, Frederick, 149.\nFrelinghuysen, Frederick T., 115, 144;\n  his death, 149.\nFrelinghuysen, Gen. John, 149.\nFrelinghuysen, Senator Theodore, 149.\nFulton Ferry, new bridge at, 99.\nFunk, Dr., 157.\n\nGallagher, Dr., 120.\nGallows, death by the, 198.\nGambling Pool Bill, protest against, 194.\nGambetta, 122.\nGarcelon, Governor, 102.\nGarfield, President, his election, 106;\n  attempt on his life, 111, 112;\n  views on Mormonism, 113;\n  reforms, 113;\n  result of his death, 113;\n  sermons, 114;\n  characteristics, 115.\nGarfield, Mrs., amount subscribed, 145.\nGateville, 9.\nGedney, Judge, 224.\nGeogheghan, the poet, 224.\nGeorge, Henry, 223.\nGettysburg, battle of, 38.\nGilbert, Judge, 193.\nGilmore, Pat, 224.\nGladstone, Mrs., 240;\n  her portrait, 240;\n  illness, 357.\nGladstone, Mrs. Herbert, 357.\nGladstone, Rt. Hon. W.E., 104, 150;\n  his policy of Home Rule for Ireland, 173, 239;\n  reception of Dr. Talmage, 236;\n  American stories, 237;\n  view on divorce, 237;\n  religion, 238;\n  library, 240;\n  congratulations, 284.\nGlasgow, 355.\nGoldsmith, Oliver, his struggles as an author, 108.\nGordon, Senator, 256.\nGorman, Senator, 331.\nGough, John B., his gift of oratory, 164;\n  dramatic power, 164.\nGould, Jay, 172.\nGrace, Mr., Mayor of New York, 121.\nGrain, failure of, in Europe, 103;\n  blockade in the United States, 103.\nGrant, General, President, 92, 279;\n  his pension, 145;\n  malady, 145, 148.\nGrant, Mayor, at the Press Club, 223.\nGreeley, Horace, 131, 175;\n  his sufferings from insomnia, 62.\nGreenport, 50 _note_.\nGreenwood cemetery, 422.\nGreenwood, Judge, 199.\nGreer, Dr., amount of his salary, 247.\nGregg, Rev. Dr., 281.\nGrevy, President, his resignation, 200.\nGrier, Dr., President of the Erskine Theological College, Due West, 338.\nGrinnell, Moses H., 57.\nGuiteau, assassinates President Garfield, 113.\n\nHaddon Hall, 351-353;\n  romance of, 352.\nHagerstown, 221.\nHall, Rev. Dr., 154.\nHall, Dr. John, amount of his salary, 247.\nHall, Rev. Dr. Newman, 97;\n  at the Mansion House, 260.\nHall, Robert, 53.\nHalstead, Murat, 283.\nHamilton, Rev. J. Benson, 241.\nHamilton Club, 224.\nHamlin, Rev. Dr. T.S., at the funeral of Dr. Talmage, 422.\nHampton, Governor Wade, 81.\nHancock, John, 173.\nHandy, Moses P., 223.\nHanna, Rev. Dr., his death, 254.\nHanna, Senator, 414.\nHardman, Dr., 21,\n  his method of examining Dr. Talmage, 22.\nHarlan, Justice, 337.\nHarper, E.B., 224.\nHarrisburg, 396;\n  intemperance, 45;\n  bribery, 46.\nHarrison, President Benjamin, 257.\nHarrison, Rev. Leon, 241.\nHarrison, William Henry, 114, 257.\nHatch, A.S., President of the New York Exchange, 135.\nHatch, Rufus, 224.\nHawarden, 236, 357.\nHawthorne, Nathaniel, 107.\nHayes, President, 70;\n  character of his message, 74.\nHazlitt, William, his struggles as an author, 108.\nHelsingfors, 368.\nHenderson, Mr., 321.\nHendricks, Thomas A., Vice-president, 158;\n  his character, 159;\n  invulnerability to attacks, 159;\n  religious views, 160.\nHendrix, Joseph C., 124, 241, 283.\nHermann, 223.\nHerschel, Lord, 325;\n  his illness and death, 326.\nHewitt, Abram S., elected Mayor of New York, 188.\nHicks-Lord case, 76.\nHigh Bridge, 275, 276.\nHill, Rev. Dr. John Wesley, 396.\nHill, Rowland, 97.\nHill, Senator, 105.\nHilton, Judge Henry, 116, 223.\nHoly Land, 235.\nHolyrood Palace, 59.\nHome Missionary meeting, in Carnegie Hall, 305.\nHoward, Joseph, 224.\nHowell, Mayor, his report on the condition of Brooklyn, 81.\nHudson, 37.\nHugo, Victor, 107.\nHull, Isaac, 125.\nHuntington, Dr., amount of his salary, 247.\nHutchinson, Dr. Joseph, 196.\nHydrophobia, inoculations against, 162.\n\nIndia, famine in, 298.\nIndiana, elections, 124.\nIngersoll, Colonel Robert, 70.\nInness, Fred, 221.\nInsomnia, sufferings from, 62.\nIowa, prohibition in, 193.\nIreland, Home Rule for, 173, 239.\nIrish Channel, crossing the, 391.\nIrving, Washington, 85;\n  \"Knickerbocker,\" 94;\n  appointed Minister to Spain, 146.\nIsle of Wight, 389.\n\nJackson, Gen. Andrew, 156.\nJaehne, Mr., his incarceration, 175.\nJamaica, Long Island, synodical trial at, 101.\nJames, General, his reforms in the Post Office, 113.\nJamestown, 339.\nJefferson, Joseph, 332.\nJefferson, Thomas, inaugurated, 174.\nJews, persecution of, in Russia, 118;\n  settle in America, 119.\nJohnson, Andrew, President, charges against, 157.\nJohnson, Dr. Samuel, 53;\n  his epitaph, 210.\nJohnstown, result of the flood at, 228.\n\n\"Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse,\" 346.\nKansas, 193;\n  its age, 105;\n  prohibition in, 193.\nKatrine, Loch, 356.\nKean, Edmund, 71.\nKeeley, Dr. Leslie, 254.\nKeller, John W., 224.\nKennedy, Dr., 187.\nKillarney lakes, 391.\nKing, Gen. Horatio C., 224, 241.\nKingsley, Mr., 207.\nKinsella, Thomas, 100, 130.\nKintore, Earl of, 298, 356.\nKlondike, arrival of gold-diggers from, 321.\nKnox, E.M., 234.\nKnox, John, his grave, 355.\nKnox, J. Amory, 224, 234.\nKrebs, Dr., 187.\n\nLafayette Avenue, railroad scheme, defeat of, 79.\nLake Port, Maryland, 409.\nLamb, Col. Albert P., 224.\nLamb, Charles, on the adulteration of food, 131.\nLambert, Dr., case of, 75.\nLang, Anton, takes part in the Passion Play, 380.\nLangtry, Mrs., 391.\nLansing, Rev. Dr. I.J., 283.\nLaurence, Amos, 55.\nLaurier, Sir Wilfred, 325.\nLawrence, E.H., 233.\nLawrence, F.W., 286.\nLeadville, its age, 105;\n  number of telephones, 105;\n  vigilance committee, 106.\nLeamington, 358.\nLectures, fees for, 40.\nLee, General, his invasion of Pennsylvania, 38.\nLeeds, collection at, 97.\nLennox, James, 55, 194.\nLeslie, Frank, the pioneer of pictorial journalism, 102.\nLexington, 188, 275, 276.\nLiberty, statue of, 148-150.\nLies, system of, 197.\nLincoln, Abraham, 37;\n  violation of his sepulchre, 161;\n  his letter, 397.\nLincoln, Robert, Secretary of War, 113.\nLind, Jenny, 14.\nLindsay, Rev. E.P., 338.\nLiverpool, 357;\n  addresses given at, 97.\nLocke, Commissioner of Appeals, 107.\nLodge, Henry Cabot, 224.\nLomond, Loch, 355.\nLondon, Lord Mayor of, his banquet at the Mansion House, 260.\nLong Island, 229.\nLos Angeles, 322.\nLouisiana, State of, 80.\nLow, Seth, Mayor of Brooklyn, 121, 133.\nLowell, James Russell, 145.\nLowndes, Governor, 326.\nLyle, Lady, 389.\n\nMacaulay, Lord, 188.\nMackenzie, Dr., his death, 254.\nMackey, Mrs., 261.\nMackinaw Island, 339.\nMadison, 273.\nMagruder, Dr. G.L., 418, 420.\nMaine, outbreak in, 102.\nMalone, Rev. Father Sylvester, 281.\nManchester, Cavendish Chapel, 348.\nManderson, Senator, 256;\n  his Bill for the arbitration of strikes, 172.\nMangam, Mrs. Daniel, 420.\nManning, Daniel, his death, 200.\nMarietta, Ohio, 317.\nMarriages, number of elopements, 137.\nMartin, Mrs. Bradley, 261.\nMartin, Pauline E., 234.\nMathews, Charles, his death, 85;\n  story of, 85.\nMatthews, T.E., 286.\nMcAdam, Judge David, 224.\nMcCauley, Jerry, 136.\nMcCormick, Cyrus, 194.\nMcDonald, Senator, 261.\nMcElroy, Dr., 187.\nMcGlynn, Father, 191.\nMcKean, John, 125.\nMcKinley, President, his congratulations, 284;\n  election, 306;\n  friendship with Dr. Talmage, 330;\n  assassination, 409.\nMcLean, Alexander, 233.\nMcLean, Andrew, 241.\nMcLeod, Rev. Donald, installed pastor of the First Presbyterian\n    Church in Washington, 341.\nMead, W.D., 269.\nMemphis, 339.\nMendes, Rabbi F. De Sol, 281.\nMerigens, George T., 38.\nMershon, Rev. S.L., 57, 274.\nMexico, 416.\nMichigan, 339, 409.\nMiddlebrook, New Jersey, 1.\nMinado, 320.\nMinisters, amount of salaries, in the United States, 63.\nMinneapolis, 99.\nMitchell, Dr., 120.\nMitford, 108.\nModjeska, Mdme., 332.\nMoliere, the comedian, 72.\nMonona Lake, 273.\nMonroe Doctrine, 304.\nMontauk Point, purchase of, 99.\nMontreal, 326.\nMoore, Charles A., 224.\nMoore, DeWitt, 39, 43.\nMorey, forgeries, 106.\nMorrisey, John, 69.\nMoscow, 374.\nMott, Lucretia, the quakeress, 106.\nMunich, 375.\nMurphy, Mr., 207.\n\nNagle, Dr., 224.\nNansen, the explorer, 365.\nNapier, Lord, his story of a wounded soldier, 239.\nNashville, 339.\nNeilson, Judge Joseph, 133, 193, 204.\nNew, Mrs., 261.\nNew Brunswick Theological Seminary, 15.\nNew Orleans, 340, 415, 418;\n  victory, 8.\nNew York, corrupt condition, 64; 69;\n  spread of Communism, 83;\n  Historical Society, gift to the library, 109;\n  Passion Play, attempt to present, 121;\n  pool rooms opened, 147;\n  conflagration of 1835, 231;\n  revival meetings, 407.\nNew York University, 14.\n\"New York,\" 258.\nNewark, 19.\nNewspaper reporter, day with a, 211-220.\nNewspapers, reduction in the price, 123.\nNewstead Abbey, 349.\nNewton, Lady, 361.\nNewton, Sir Alfred, Lord Mayor, 361.\nNichols, Governor, 81.\nNicols, Rev. Dr. S.J., at the funeral of Dr. Talmage, 422.\nNightingale, Florence, note from, 359;\n  receives Dr. Talmage, 360.\nNorth Cape, view from, of the Midnight Sun, 365, 366.\nNorth River, first steamer, 8.\nNorthern Pacific Railroad Co., 126.\nNottingham, 260;\n  Albert Hall, 348.\nNutting, A.J., 234.\n\nOakley, Rev. Mr., 51.\nOber-Ammergau Passion Play, 375;\n  impressions of, 375-388;\n  actors, 378.\nOcean Grove, 408.\n\"Oceanic,\" 391.\nOchiltree, Colonel Tom, 261;\n  at the Press Club, 223.\nOgden, 104\nOhio, elections, 124;\n  River, 276.\nOlcott, George M., 224.\nOmaha, 99,104;\n  picture galleries, 106.\nOsborne, Truman, 16.\n\"Our Dead President,\" sermon on, 410.\n\nPacker, Asa D., 194.\nPaine, Tom, 71.\nPalmer, A.M., 261.\nPanics, view on, 290-293.\nParis, 60, 236;\n  Exposition of 1900, 362, 388.\nParker; Rev. Dr. Joseph, 259;\n  his description of Dr. Talmage's sermon, 259;\n  congratulations, 284.\nParkhurst, Dr., 258;\n  amount of his salary, 247.\nParnell, C.S., in New York, 102;\n  triumph on his return to England, 163.\nPassaic River, 29.\nPasteur, Dr., his inoculations against hydrophobia, 162.\nPatten, Dr., 120.\nPaxton, Dr., amount of his salary, 247.\nPayne, Mr., his song \"Home, Sweet Home,\" 108.\nPeabody, George, his will, 73.\nPeace Jubilee, a national, 43.\nPeck, General, defence of, 362.\nPenn, William, 156.\nPennsylvania, invasion, 38;\n  election, 124.\nPeru, war with Chili, 117.\nPeterhof, Palace of, 370.\nPeters, Barnard, 281.\nPhelps, Mr., 145.\nPhiladelphia, Second Reformed Church of, 37.\nPhillips, Wendell, 127.\nPierce, Dr., 369.\nPierce, Mrs., 370.\nPierce. President, opens the World's Fair, 195.\nPierce, Senator, his Bill for a new city charter for Brooklyn, 78.\nPiermont, 25.\nPilgrim Fathers, in New England, 156.\nPius IX., Pope, 77.\nPolicies, International, lecture on, 322.\nPolk, Mrs., her pension, 145.\nPollock, Robert, ex-Governor, 22;\n  report of his speech, 41.\n\"Pomerania,\" s.s., loss of, 89.\nPomeroy, Rev. C.S., 51.\nPond, Major, 96.\nPoor, problem of the, 143.\nPotomac, the, 38.\nPratt, Judge C.R., 133, 224.\nPrayer, the influence of, 148.\nPrentice, Mr., 207.\nPress Club, dinners at, 223.\nPressly, Rev. David P., 338.\nPreston, William C., 104.\nPretoria, capture of, 361.\nPrime, Rev. Dr., 71.\nPrinceton, 301.\n\nQueenstown, 391.\n\nRailway strike, 166.\nRainsford, Dr., amount of his salary, 247.\nRandall, Mr., 128.\nRaymond, Henry J., 131.\nReed, Joseph, 166.\nReed, Speaker, 337.\n\"Rehypothication,\" crime of, 76.\nReid, Dr., 120.\nRepublican party, 46.\nReynolds, Judge, 193.\nRhode Island, 115.\nRichards, Rev. Dr., 27.\nRidgeway, James W., 124.\nRiley, his \"Universal Philosophy,\" 107.\nRiver and Harbour Bill, 143.\nRobinson, Lincoln, 102.\nRobinson, William E., 241, 253.\nRoche, Rev. Spencer F., 281.\nRockport, new cable landed at, 135.\nRockwell, Rev. J.E., 50.\nRoebling, Mr., 207.\nRoosevelt, Theodore, 224, 422.\nRoosevelt, Mrs., 422.\nRosa, Parepa, 43.\nRoswell, Mr., 205.\nRuskin, John, 261;\n  his literary works, 262.\nRussia, 263;\n  defeats Turkey, 77;\n  persecution of the Jews, 118;\n  famine, 264.\nRussia, Alexander III.; Czar of, receives Dr. Talmage, 263-266;\n  gift to him, 280.\nRussia, Nicholas II., Czar of, receives Dr. Talmage, 371.\nRussia, Czarina of, receives Mrs. Talmage, 371;\n  her appearance, 371.\nRussia, Dowager Empress of, receives Dr. Talmage, 372.\nRussia, Nicholas, Grand Duke, 264.\n\nSacramento, 104;\n  picture galleries, 106.\nSage, Russell, his loan to Brooklyn Tabernacle, 268.\nSailors, character of, 133.\nSt. Louis railway strike, 167.\nSalt Lake City, 104, 320.\nSalvation Army, meetings in Brooklyn, 222.\nSan Antonio, 415.\nSan Francisco, 322;\n  the first Presbyterian Church of, 49;\n  its age, 105;\n  picture galleries, 106;\n  amount paid by Chinese, 174.\nSand, George, character of her writings, 64.\nSanderson, driver of the stage coach, 11.\nSand-storm, a Mexican, 415.\nSanitary Protective League, organisation of, 143.\nSanta Barbara, 322.\nSaratoga, 319.\nScenery Chapel, 97.\nSchenck, Dr. Noah Hunt, 141.\nSchieren, Major, 281.\nSchiller, the famous comedian, 72.\n\"Schiller,\" the, sinks, 134.\nSchley, Admiral, 332, 336.\nSchroeder, Frederick A., 99, 224.\nSchuylkill River, 25 _note_.\nScott, Rev. James W., 22;\n  his kindness to Dr. Talmage, 22-24;\n  death, 24.\nScudder, Dr., 120.\nSeattle, 321.\nSeavey, George L., 135;\n  his gift to the library of the Historical Society, New York, 109.\nSeward, William H., 102;\n  his death, 188.\nShafter, General, 336.\nShaftesbury, Lord, his funeral, 155;\n  last public act, 155;\n  President of various societies, 156.\nShannon, Patrick, 69.\nSharon Springs, 57.\nSharpsburg, 221.\nSheepshead Bay, races at, 147.\nSheffield, 357.\nShelbyville, 160.\nSheridan, Mr. and Mrs., 108.\nSherman, James, 97.\nSherman, John, 256, 284.\nSherman, Gen. William T., 242.\nShields, Dr., 417;\n  attends Dr. Talmage, 417;\n  accompanies him home, 418.\nSiberia, 263.\nSilver Bill, passed, 80.\nSimpson, Bishop, 136.\nSimpson, Sir Herbert, 356.\nSimpson, Sir James Y., his use of chloroform, 207, 356.\nSkillman, Dr., 11.\nSlater, Mr., 194.\nSlocum, General, 133.\nSmith, Charles Emory, 223.\nSmith, Rev. J. Hyatt, 189;\n  his life of self-sacrifice, 190.\nSmith, Mrs. Warren G., 420.\nSomerville, 3, 9.\nSoudan war, 146.\nSoulard, A.L., 268.\nSouthampton, 347.\nSouth Carolina, 81.\nSpain, war with the United States, 320;\n  investigation into, 336.\nSpeer, Dr. Samuel Thayer, 186.\nSpencer, Dr., 54.\nSpencer, Rev. W. Ichabod, 186.\nSpring, Dr. Gardiner, 54, 187.\nSpurgeon, Rev. Charles H., 253;\n  his death, 254.\nStafford, Marshal, 241.\nStanley, Dean, 116.\nStaten Island, 161.\nStead, Mr., his crusade against crime, 153.\nSteele, Dr., 120.\nSteele, Commissioner of stamps, 107.\nStephens, Alexander H., 80.\nStevens, Mrs. Paran, 261.\nStevens, W., 30.\nStewart, Samuel B., 116.\nStillman, Benjamin A., 224.\nStockholm, Immanuel Church, 367.\nStone, Rev. Dr., 187.\nStone, Governor, 337, 346.\nStorrs, Rev. R.S., pastor of the Church of Pilgrims, 186.\nStranahan, J.S.T., 120, 133, 224.\nStratford-on-Avon, 358;\n  the \"Red Horse Hotel,\" 97.\nStrikes, 167;\n  Bill for the arbitration of, 172.\nStuart, Francis H., 234.\nStuart, George H., 38.\nSullivan-Ryan prize fight, 117.\nSummerfield, Dr. John, 187.\nSunderland, Rev. Dr. Byron W., 294, 410.\nSuydam, Rev. Dr. Howard, at the burial of Dr. Talmage, 422.\nSwansea, 267, 389.\nSweden, 367.\nSwenson, Mr., 364.\nSyracuse, 35.\n\nTalmage, Catherine, her character, 3;\n  conversion, 5;\n  covenant with her neighbours, 5;\n  death, 6.\nTalmage, Daisy, 50 _note_.\nTalmage, Daniel, 10.\nTalmage, David, his Christian principles, 3;\n  conversion, 5;\n  mode of conducting prayer-meetings, 6;\n  fearlessness, 7;\n  sheriff, 7;\n  scenes of his life, 8;\n  death, 9;\n  sons, 9.\nTalmage, Edith, 50 _note_.\nTalmage, Mrs. Eleanor, her Biographical Sketch of Dr. Talmage, 311;\n  first meeting, 313;\n  marriage, 314;\n  accompanies him in his travels, 315, 319;\n  attends his lectures, 316;\n  held up in Yellowstone Park, 320;\n  received by the Czarina, 371;\n  dedicates the Wood Green Wesleyan Church, 390.\nTalmage, Rev. Frank DeWitt, 50 _note_, 420.\nTalmage, Rev. Goyn, 9.\nTalmage, Rev. James R., 9.\nTalmage, Jehiel, his conversion, 5.\nTalmage, Jessie, 25 _note_.\nTalmage, Rev. John Van Nest, 9;\n  missionary at Amoy, 19;\n  devotion to the Chinese, 91;\n  death, 91;\n  reticence, 92;\n  work, 93.\nTalmage, Mrs. Mary, 25 _note_.\nTalmage, Maud, 50 _note_, 346, 355,420.\nTalmage, May, 50 _note_, 235.\nTalmage, Mrs. Susan, 50 _note_, 235.\nTalmage, Thomas DeWitt, his birth, 1;\n  ancestors, 2;\n  father, 3;\n  mother, 3;\n  the family Bible, 3;\n  conversion of his grand-parents and parents, 4;\n  home, 9;\n  childhood, 10;\n  early religious tendencies, 10;\n  at New York University, 14;\n  New Brunswick Theological Seminary, 19;\n  conversion, 16;\n  first sermon, 19;\n  ordination, 21-23;\n  pastorate at Belleville, 25;\n  marriage, 25 _note_;\n  children, 25 _note_, 50 _note_;\n  his first baptism, 26;\n  first pastoral visitation, 27;\n  first funeral, 29;\n  pastorate at Syracuse, 35;\n  first literary lecture, 36;\n  call to Philadelphia, 37;\n  amounts received for his lectures, 40, 96;\n  at the National peace jubilee, 43;\n  his fear of indolence, 48;\n  ministerial ball club, 49;\n  second marriage, 50 _note_;\n  call to Brooklyn, 50;\n  installed, 51;\n  charges against, 51, 58, 94;\n  character of his sermons, 53, 58, 315, 323, 395;\n  establishes the first Brooklyn Tabernacle, 55;\n  vacations at East Hampton, 57, 274, 338, 408;\n  visits to Europe, 59, 153, 258, 346;\n  impressions on hearing the organ at Freyburg, 59;\n  meeting with Dr. John Brown, 60;\n  in Paris, 60, 362, 388;\n  sermons, 62, 220, 273, 286, 290, 296, 323, 336, 348, 356,\n    358, 359, 389, 396, 410-412;\n  on the size of the heavenly Jerusalem, 66;\n  his opinion of Church fairs, 72;\n  lecturing tours, 80, 84, 143, 159, 297, 326, 339, 348, 405, 408;\n  opposes the effort to exclude the Chinese, 90;\n  death of his brother John, 91;\n  Gospel meetings, 96, 289;\n  visits to the house of T. Carlyle, 97;\n  trip to the West, 104, 172, 189;\n  views on betting, 147;\n  on education, 152;\n  his numerous letters, 153-155;\n  on the demands of Society, 169-171;\n  views on war, 181;\n  at Lexington, 188;\n  protest against the Gambling Pool Bill, 194;\n  proposal of a World's Fair, 195;\n  on execution by electricity, 198;\n  advocates free trade, 200;\n  advice on books, 202-204;\n  a day with a newspaper reporter, 212-220;\n  his study, 212, 328;\n  correspondence, 213-215;\n  visitors, 215-218;\n  appearance, 218, 343;\n  pastoral visit, 219;\n  chaplain of the \"Old Thirteenth\" Regiment, 221;\n  his income, 221, 225, 246;\n  dinners at the Press Club, 223;\n  at the Hamilton Club, 224;\n  restlessness, 226;\n  mode of life, 226, 329;\n  squib on, 228;\n  on the result of the flood at Johnstown, 228;\n  on the lessons learnt from conflagrations, 231;\n  appeal for funds, 232;\n  consecration of the ground, 234;\n  his visit to the Holy Land, 235;\n  attack of influenza, 236;\n  visit to Mr. Gladstone, 236-241;\n  ovation on his return home, 241;\n  on the revision of Creeds, 244;\n  lays the corner stone, 245;\n  editor of periodicals, 245, 398;\n  critics, 246;\n  shaves his whiskers, 248;\n  on the Higher Criticism of the Bible, 253;\n  preaching tours in England, 258, 267;\n  views on dreaming, 258;\n  sermons in the City Temple, 259;\n  at Nottingham, 260;\n  at the Mansion House, 260, 361;\n  visits John Ruskin, 261;\n  reception in Russia, 263;\n  audience of the Czar Alexander, 263-266;\n  donation of his salary, 269;\n  resignation, 270, 293, 333;\n  voyages across the ocean, 275, 346;\n  visit to Governor Blackburn, 275-279;\n  meeting with Senator Beck, 276;\n  presentation of a gold tea-service, 280;\n  25th anniversary of his pastorate, 280-283;\n  his speech, 282;\n  messages of congratulation, 284;\n  journey round the world, 288;\n  \"The Earth Girdled,\" 289;\n  his views on panics, 290-293;\n  accepts the call to Washington, 294-296;\n  installed, 297;\n  reception at the White House, 297;\n  intercourse with Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland, 300-306;\n  interview with Major McKinley, 307;\n  his characteristics, 312, 315, 317, 343, 402-406;\n  magnetic influence, 313;\n  third marriage, 314;\n  cheerfulness, 315, 324;\n  mode of travelling, 315;\n  his lectures, 316, 348, 396;\n  love of flowers, 318;\n  in Yellowstone Park, 320;\n  lecture on International Policies, 322;\n  his sense of duty, 323;\n  methodical habits, 329;\n  friendship with President McKinley, 330;\n  publication of his sermons, 334, 398;\n  his dinner parties, 337;\n  at Due West, 338;\n  love of music, 344;\n  views on the Boer War, 347;\n  visits Newstead Abbey, 349;\n  Haddon Hall, 352;\n  Chatsworth, 353;\n  Scotland, 355-357;\n  Hawarden, 357;\n  \"The American Spurgeon,\" 358;\n  his power as an orator, 358;\n  interview with Florence Nightingale, 360;\n  at Copenhagen, 363;\n  received by the Crown Prince of Denmark, 364;\n  ascends North Cape, 366;\n  preaches in Stockholm, 367;\n  at St. Petersburg, 368;\n  received by the Czar Nicholas, 371;\n  the Dowager Empress, 372;\n  at Berlin, 374;\n  his impressions of the Passion Play, 375-388;\n  at Baden-baden, 388;\n  preaches in John Wesley's Chapel, 388;\n  in Ireland, 391;\n  return to America, 391;\n  his vigour and enthusiasm for his work, 393;\n  welcome at Brooklyn, 397;\n  style of his writings, 399;\n  personal mail, 399;\n  simple tastes, 400;\n  libraries, 401;\n  reverence for the Bible, 401;\n  sense of humour, 403;\n  will power, 403;\n  perseverance, 403-405;\n  eulogy on Queen Victoria, 406;\n  inaugurates Revival meetings, 407;\n  his last sermon, 410-412;\n  in a railway accident, 414;\n  in Mexico, 416;\n  audience with President Diaz, 417;\n  his illness, 417-420;\n  journey home, 418;\n  death, 420;\n  funeral service, 421;\n  burial, 422;\n  tributes to, 422;\n  his \"Celestial Dream,\" 423.\nTappen, Arthur, 56.\nTariff Reform question, 128, 255;\n  protective, 200.\nTaylor, Alfred, 179.\nTaylor, Bayard, his career, 90;\n  number of his books, 90;\n  death, 90.\nTaylor, Rev. Dr. Benjamin C., 25.\nTaylor, Robert, 179.\nTaylor, Dr. William M., amount of his salary, 247.\nTaylor, Zachary, 114.\nTenney, Judge, 94.\nTennyson, Lord, 156.\nTerhune, Rev. E.P., 241.\nThomas, Capt., heroism of, 134.\nThomasville, 414;\n  accident at, 414.\nThompson, Dr. C.C., amount of his salary, 247.\nThompson, Rev. Charles L., 283.\nThompson, Mr., Secretary of the Navy, 404.\nThurber, Frank B., private secretary to President Cleveland, 224, 303, 305.\nTierney, Judge, 133.\nTolstoi, Count, 263.\nTracey, General, 133, 283.\nTrenton, intemperance, 45;\n  bribery, 46.\nTroendhjem, 365.\nTucker, Dr. Harrison A., 233.\nTurkey, defeated by Russia, 77.\nTyler, Mrs., her pension, 145.\nTyng, Rev. Stephen H., 62;\n  his sufferings from insomnia, 62.\n\n\"Uncle John's Place,\" 9.\nUnited States, the Civil War, 38;\n  result, 42, 74;\n  intemperance, 44;\n  bribery, 45, 165-167;\n  salaries of ministers, 63;\n  spread of communism, 83;\n  fever for spending money, 83;\n  predictions of disaster in 1878, 88;\n  legislative effort to exclude the Chinese, 90;\n  commercial frauds, 93;\n  pacification of North and South, 113;\n  purchase of grain, 103;\n  surplus for export, 103;\n  blockade, 103;\n  republican candidates for the Presidency, 104;\n  quality of the new Senators, 109;\n  interference in foreign affairs, 117;\n  celebration of centennials, 124;\n  adulteration of food, 131;\n  number of elopements, 137;\n  problem of the poor, 143;\n  practice of betting, 147;\n  demands of Society, 169-171;\n  the working people, 171;\n  number of weddings, 176;\n  sports, 177;\n  mania for rebuilding, 178;\n  fashions, 183;\n  slaughter of birds, 184;\n  system of taxation, 197;\n  of lies, 197;\n  war with Spain, 320.\nUnrequited services, sermon on, 356, 359.\n\nVan Buren, cartoons of, 175.\nVanderbilt, Cornelius, his will, 73, 161;\n  gift to a medical institute, 141;\n  death, 160;\n  protection of his remains, 161.\nVanderbilt, Mrs., her remedy against sea-sickness, 347.\nVan Dyke, Rev. Dr. Henry 51, 413.\nVan Nest, John, 10.\nVan Rensselaer, Mr. and Mrs., 30.\nVan Vranken, Rev. Dr., 18.\nVicksburg, victory at, 38.\nVictoria, Queen, character of her reign, 78;\n  first cablegram, 250;\n  her death, 406.\nVienna, 375.\nVillard, Henry, 126.\nVinton, Rev. Dr., 187.\nVolapuek, the study of, 205.\nVredenburgh, John, 17.\n\nWadsworth, Rev. Charles, 48.\nWales, Prince of, at Chatsworth, 354.\nWalker, Dr. Mary, her appearance, 331.\nWall Street, failure of 1884, 134.\nWallace, William Copeland, 224.\nWalsh, Senator, 283.\nWard, Ferdinand, 134.\nWard, Dr. Samuel, 19, 30.\nWarner, B.H., 335.\nWars, number of, in 1885, 146;\n  cost, 158;\n  character, 181.\nWarsaw, 374.\nWashington, intemperance, 45;\n  bribery, 46;\n  Silver Bill passed, 80;\n  number of appropriation Bills, 117;\n  improvements, 255;\n  First Presbyterian Church at, 294;\n  library presented to, 335;\n  Pan-Presbyterian Council, 341.\nWashington, George, 173;\n  his burial, 8.\nWatterson, Henry, 255.\nWebb, James Watson, 131.\nWebster, Daniel, 86, 104;\n  monument erected to, 128;\n  his death, 188.\nWebster, Lily, her baptism, 26.\nWebster, Noah, his dictionary, 76, 107.\nWeed, Thurlow, 131.\nWesley, John, 52;\n  caricatures of, 53.\nWestminster Hall, dynamite outrage, 142.\nWheeler, General, 336.\nWhite, Chief Justice, 208.\nWhite, Doc, 224.\nWhite, Henry Kirke, 258.\nWhite, Mr., 361.\nWhitefield, George, caricature of his preaching, 52.\nWhitney, ex-Mayor, 241.\nWhittemore, Miss Susan C., her marriage, 50 _note_.\nWhittier, John Greenleaf, 251;\n  poem, 252.\nWilber, Mark D., 241.\nWilder, Marshall P., 346.\nWilliams, General and Mrs., 261.\nWilliams, William B., 224.\nWills, number of disputes over, 142.\nWilson, Henry, his death, 188.\nWindom, Secretary, 113.\nWinslow, Hon. John, 224, 281.\nWisconsin, 409.\nWitherspoon, Dr., advice from, 154.\nWolfe, Miss, 55;\n  her bequest to the Church, 194.\nWood Green Wesleyan Church, dedication of, 390.\nWood, John, 233, 269.\nWoodford, Gen. Stewart L., 133, 224.\nWoodruff, T.L., 224.\nWoodward, Mr., 157.\nWorld's Fair, 195.\nWrench, Dr., 351, 353.\nWright, Silas, 102.\nWuerttemberg, 374.\nWycoff, Mrs. Clarence, 420.\nWyndham, Mr., 368.\n\nYellow fever, scourge of, 87.\nYellowstone Park, 320.\n\nZanesville, 317.\nZwink, John, takes part in the Passion Play, 380;\n  character of his acting, 381.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGARDEN CITY PRESS LIMITED, PRINTERS, LETCHWORTH, HERTS.","title":"T. De Witt Talmage as I Knew Him","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":129466}